Scenes From A Life, Built Together
by Alidiabin
Summary: Sequel of sorts to "To Be By Your Side" Tony and Ziva now back from Israel, try to navigate their two years together, going through a lot of changes and challenges, with a lot of help from their friends. AU from 10x24, but plays with the important parts of S11 cannon. T/Z heavy. NOW COMPLETE #happyendings
1. Changes

**A/N** : This is up here for a reason friends. This chapter contains mentions of disordered eating. Please stay safe.

"Do you think I am getting fat?" she murmured, as he woke up, and found her not beside him in her bed, but in front of the mirror by her closet.

They two of them, had been granted a full weekend together, a rare treat, as he still worked Gibbs' ridiculous hours. She had laid down her guns, and was trying to craft a life of peace. Her new life, had better hours, but they still spent far too long apart.

It was snowing outside, in those days between Thanksgiving and Christmas. His father and her Schmeil had visited for a Thanksgiving which crossed over with Hanukkah, a quirk in the crossover of the Jewish and Gregorian calendars which never again occur in any of their lifetimes. Ziva's little apartment had been filled with love, and joy, as they celebrated the second night on Black Friday. Her cosy living room, filled with people. Filled with laughter. Filled with the two DiNozzo men's mangled attempt at Hebrew songs. How the lights of the candle had gleamed in Ziva's eyes, as she held Schmiel close. The two of them, who had seen the most tragedy out of all of those in the room, had laughed the loudest, and partied the hardest. _When so much has been lost_ , Schmeil had said, as he finished his fourth glass of wine, _it makes it so much more important to celebrate, even the little moments._

"No," he replied, very quickly. His stomach turned, and he suddenly felt like he had stepped into quicksand. And, boy was he sinking, fast.

She stood in front of the mirror, pulling at the baggy NCIS t-shirt she sometimes wore to bed.

"You said that too quickly," she declared, as she poked at her ribs. The bones were still visible, but not protruding. She pinched at her back, a tiny mound of skin.

"Can you really blame me, I've been a man for a while now, when a woman asks those sort of questions, there is really only one answer," he said, as he watched her reflection frown. "Besides, you're up what ten pounds at the most?"

She turned back to him, eyes wide. That frown deeply etched in her features.

"So, I am getting fat," she spat, words tainted with anger.

"Ziva," he said voice softened, "If you're fat, then I'm Shrek."

In recent weeks, he too had felt the tug of a too tight suit. In all these months together, the two of them, had been indulgent, especially, since their return from Israel. Wine bottles had been emptied. Second portions served. Snacks, oh so many snacks, shared as they watched movies. The winter weather had been blamed for many evening spent inside and cosy.

"I will have to run an extra mile," she said, running her hands down her bare thighs. "Or two."

Perhaps, they'd both make healthier choices. His doctor always warned him about his cholesterol. The New Year was not too far away, maybe 2014, would be one of health and the scale running backwards.

"Come back to bed," he declared, arms reaching out for her, "it's cold, and dark. Far too early to be up."

She slowly moved from in front of the mirror to the bed. Hips swaying. Maybe, they should go dancing, he thought. She loved to dance. He could step on her toes, as she tried to lead. He would make references to Singin' in the Rain, and Dirty Dancing, and she would laugh. It would be nice.

"I didn't think you were one of those women," he muttered, as she sat next to him. Her still very thin legs, snaked around his.

"Neither did I," she said softly. Her hands were pulling at her expensive sheets, Israeli cotton, oh how he slept so peacefully in them. When he was next to her, he always slept better. "I have never been before."

Her path to peace, came with so many turns. Cutting away the scar tissue of a lifetime of fights, had revealed some tender parts, now unprotected and exposed. Parts she did not know, how to deal with, as she pieced together a new person from the rags and ashes.

"I have never had an issue with my weight," she declared.

He had dated enough women, to know how pervasive the culture of thinness was. In his playboy days, he'd liked them curvy, but not too curvy. He had seen enough women, eat only salad for dinner, or throw a very expensive dinner up the next morning. He had dated women, who tortured themselves through spin classes, and counted every calorie. One woman, in the days before smartphones, wrote down everything she ate in a little black book, and put smiley and frowny faces beside each item. Another, chewed her food fifty times, before swallowing.

He too had been caught up in this culture. In his neanderthal days, he had joked with his frat buddies, and then cop buddies, that a woman was too big for him to date. He even had a rule, about women who ate more than he did. He had turned a blind eye, to girlfriends hurting themselves to maintain an impossible standard. He too, had gotten sucked up in it all, especially as his age crept up, and it became harder and harder to lose the winter weight.

How silly he had been to think, Ziva was immune to it all?

"I had to buy a new dress for the opera," she continued. The opera, visited together in the week before Thanksgiving. The stories of Tali David, the little songbird extinguished before the world could here her voice, had flowed freely, as they drove back to her little apartment. The tears had flowed too.

"That was a very nice dress," he said, as he snaked his arm around her waist, and tugged her closer. Maybe, one of these days they'd sit so close, they would merge together. Two halves finally become whole.

"The other one was too small," she said, a sadness lacing her voice. "The other one used to be my favourite."

He had noticed, other new clothes creeping into her wardrobe, which he thought had been due to the colder weather.

"I like the new one better," he said, as he nuzzled into her neck.

It had been a black dress, with a gold pattern on the skirt. The top had dipped low on her back, showing it off. He'd told her how beautiful she looked at least a dozen times, that evening. He had noticed, how she caught the gaze of other men too. His arms had remained tight around her, as urges of a purely primal nature ran rampant, _she is mine_ , he had tried to indicate, to the other men, richer men, with wandering eyes. _This beautiful creature is mine. All mine. She chose me. Despite_ _everything, she chose me._

"It's just so much has changed," she finally whispered.

Her body, her personal battleground. How many times had she stepped back from a fight, with a fresh scar. Oh how her bones ached when it rained. How many times, had she pushed for the extra mile, in spite of those aches and pains.

"I mean, I was silly to think that my body would not change," she said. Even though, she had never expected to get this far in the race of life. Her life was always intended to be a sprint, with a climatic finish, not the long windy marathon it was setting out to be. Her body, was supposed to be immortal, thin and tone. She was to become like those marble statues they studied in school. She was Athena, goddess of war, born from her father's forehead. "And it is so silly, to be upset about this."

He thought of her, when she first joined the team, of their weekend playing married assassins, how little and toned she was. Perfectly formed, he would think just before the snoring set in. She had not shied away from his touch, or his eyes as he admired her olive flesh exposed. Back then she was ever comfortable in her body, and what she could do with it. It was her tool, and she knew exactly how to work it. Confidence oozed out of her.

He thought of her, when they had to carry her onto that plane in Somalia, how she was too light, too fragile, and too broken. How she shivered in that metal box, even under the scratchy wool blankets, she had cocooned herself in. How he could see her protruding ribs through the heavy canvas shirt. How she looked like a ghost of her former self. How they wondered, if she would ever full come back.

Then he thought of her, in the years since. The weight never quite sat the same, her body tended to hoard calories. Still, perhaps due to the daily runs, and regular martial arts classes, she remained petite. Even now, he would not have noticed a difference until she pointed it out. Like, he said she was up what ten pounds. Even before, she lay down her guns, she was different with her body. More cautious. More protective. Less sure. They all said a part of her had died out there. Parts of her had been taken too. Taken by force.

"It's not silly," he whispered. "You're changing. I'm changing. We're changing. Things are going to take a while for it all to settle down."

She clung to him, holding his face in her hands. Their eyes locked. They looked directly at one another, as they held the gaze. He had never allowed this intimacy before. Not on such a deep level. The two of them could say so much without words.

"You have been so wonderful," she whispered. So patient. So kind.

"We're doing this together," he repeated. "We're changing. We're both doing our best."

"So much has changed, so much is still changing," she whispered, as she leaned her forehead onto his. "It just feels like, I am trying to grab at things, but I can't."

He patted her thigh, which was still tight and toned, from her years as a dancer. The lightbulb went off inside his head. Her body, had been the one thing she had been able to control, through all the world had thrown at her. Especially, after that summer where she was at the mercy of men, who had nothing but malice in their veins, she had wanted so desperately to regain control.

"I know," he soothed. "It's been hard. You've been working so hard."

She let his words wash over her. How she wished she knew the turmoil this would bring. She could not keep fighting, yet she was so afraid of this unknown, she had thrust herself into. Even now, it felt like for every step she took forward, she took two more back. Just last week, her and her therapist had agreed she was making progress. Now, that all felt like an illusion. Her house of cards, had tumbled down over a dress that was too tight, and a few pounds.

These dark winter days, seemed to fuel such dark wintery thoughts.

"You know, I should probably shift a few pounds," he muttered, looking down at his own bare chest. "And introduce a few more vegetables to my life. We could do this together. Become one of those annoying couples, who do triathlons, and tell all of their friends about it. McThirdWheel would hate us."

"You do know what a triathlon involves?" she asked, as she raised her eyebrow, and wrapped her arms around him. Tight. They held each other so tightly. Clinging.

"Not really, but I hear there are other ways to burn calories," he declared, flashing his big smile, "Which, I have heard to be very effective, and don't require going out in the cold, or riding a bicycle."

She laughed, and a smile dawned on her face. The grey clouds, seemed to start to disappear from above her head, and the sun peaked through. Maybe, this storm would pass, with minimal damage.

"Seriously, sweetcheeks," he said, his voice soft. "Whatever you need. We'll do it. We'll do it together."

"Together," she echoed. Their matra. Tony and Ziva versus the world.

She already felt, the feelings she had earlier slip away, like the tide going out. Maybe, it would all be okay. It was just a few pounds. Maybe, a peaceful life, was a fatter life. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. So many maybes. Except him.

"Always," he replied.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Hmm ... thoughts.

So I intend for this to be collection of scenes between our dynamic duo, and occasionally some other people, and a sort of sequel to the mess that was "To Be By Your Side", but that does not really need to be read first. If you haven't read that, it basically involves the two of them going to Israel, unearthing her past, and making promises about the future. No promises on updates, but I will aim to make the story as chronological as possible, but most chapters will be able to stand alone. I will pick and chose what parts of the post S10 cannon, I follow. I'll probably include mentions to Delilah, Ellie, and baby Victoria, but obviously skip 'Family First', and the Ari's secret half-brother b.s. Either way, it's going to be very focused on Tony and Ziva together.

If that sounds like your cup of tea, please review. If not, thanks for stopping by, and mind the gap as you disembark.


	2. A Year

Darkness was a heavy blanket over the cosy bedroom, when the shrill ring of a cell phone woke the occupants, who were snuggled close.

Tony, untangled himself from Ziva's expensive sheets, with a grunt.

"It's Saturday," he groaned, as he tugged his cellphone from its charger.

He found it to be silent, with no incoming call. A far too early hour blinked back at him. He checked his phone, wondering if had missed a call, or if he had heard a phantom call. Then he came to the relisation, that pre-dawn disturbance was not meant for him.

A familiar hand on his shoulder, he was lightly pushed him back to bed. Warm cosy bed. Back to the land of nod, he would go.

"Go back to sleep, Motek," Ziva soothed, her cellphone pressed to her ear, as she slipped from the bed. There was a ruffle of the duvet. A woosh of cool air. "Schmeil has forgotten the time difference, again."

He spent the next twenty minutes, tossing and turning in bed, the soft murmur of Hebrew, drifting from down the hall. In the end his aging bladder, roused him from bed, and his rumbling stomach led him to Ziva's kitchen. Last nights dishes were on the drying rack. The fruit, they both pledged to eat more of, on their new health kick, sat mostly untouched on the counter.

Ziva was sitting, feet curled under her like a cat. That coffee coloured throw she kept on the the couch, wrapped over her shoulders. The phone still pressed to her ear. A cup of tea steamed from the coffee table. Her smoke signal.

He found she had put the coffee machine on for him. They had slipped so easily into these little routines. Doing little things for each other. How natural it felt. How nice. It was the little moments, he and McLoverBoy had agreed during a car trip, as they talked about the changes the year had brought. _Look at us, McAdult, we're being grown-ups._

She had left a mug out for him. A warm orange colour. Next to the mug sat a candle, encased in a cup. He studied the sticker, with its writing in Hebrew, what he believed to be Yiddish, and finally in English; _memorial candle_.

It had been a year. Twelve months. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes. Wasn't that how that song went? Ziva did like her musicals. He found it so hard to remember, she used to be Mossad, when she hummed along to Seasons of Love.

So much had happened in the space of a year. So much had changed.

Vance, had taken a four day weekend. Their new Probie, Ellie with her inability to sit on chairs, and obsession with food, had poked her little head up, and asked why. Neither, he or McGee had managed to form enough words to explain. Eventually, Ellie had clicked, registering Vance's glum face, and Abby's asking after Ziva. She was quieter than usual, like Ziva used to get when they mentioned Kate. The black cloud hovered over the team. He hoped it would part soon, bringing some much needed sun.

Ziva's conversation ended, and the white noise of the Hebrew faded out. He sipped his coffee, and watched, as she sat still and silent. Her dark hair reached down her back. She sat like a statue, eyes looking far away. Her thinking face, he liked call this. She moved slightly, pulling her knees to her chest, and resting her chin on her knees. It made her look young. So damn young.

Early morning light streamed through apartment. It was still damn early. Too damn early.

She turned toward him. Eyes piercing right through him. He made his way to her, holding his coffee cup with one hand, and the candle with another.

"Whatever you need today," he whispered, as he sat next to her, depositing his coffee cup next to her tea cup. "We'll do it. Whatever you need. Anything."

He reached for her hand, knotting his fingers into hers.

"I thought, I wanted today to pass without comment," she said, her voice soft, and distant.

 _You must shut down to survive_ , she had told him once in that year, after the summer they never mentioned. She might have laid down her guns, but the survival instinct was still there.

"Okay," he said, wondering if she really wanted that. "Shutting up now."

"I was wrong," she said, shifting just a tiny bit closer to him. Her knees still pressed into her chest. "When I heard Schmeil's voice, it was comforting. I had not realised how much I needed his wise words."

"How is the man of steel?" he asked. "Getting over his bronchitis?"

Old age, and the trip across the Atlantic in December, had led to a sick Schmeil. Worry had stewed in Ziva. She had begged the universe not to take her Schmiel, from her too. She had lost far too much.

"Yes," she said, as a slight smile crossed her face. She pushed her cellphone to him. "He is not the only one, who has offered comforting words."

He flicked through her phone, and found texts from Abby, McGee, Palmer, and even Ducky, offering thoughts and kind words. All of them said they were just a phone call away.

"They care," he said softly. "They care a lot."

He knew, that when she left, she had worried, how her relationships with the others in the little chosen family, would survive. She had feared that by leaving the job, they would all drop away. Things had changed, but they were still there. McGee, had helped her when she had computer issues. Abby, liked to take Ziva out on girls nights. She and Ducky, sometimes had tea, and shared books, now that she had more time to read. All of them had turned up for her birthday dinner, and her Hanukkah party. Things had changed, but friends had not been lost.

"I know," she replied. She let her legs go from under her, and sat on the couch. He wrapped his arm around her. Holding her close. Holding her tight.

"Seriously, Ziva," he said, as he placed a kiss on her forehead. "Whatever you need today. We can do it."

In the past months, they had shared their little rituals of remembrance. For her sister, the songbird, with her wings clipped, they had gone to the opera. For her mother, there were dishes cooked, and memories shared. She had broadened his palette, with new tastes and spices. For his mother, there were movies watched together. His endless quest to broaden her cinematic knowledge. Maybe, one day Pirates of the Caribbean would drop from her top five favourites.

"And, if I do not know what I need?" she asked, turning to face him. Voice crumpling.

This was not her first rodeo, she thought darkly, remembering how her father had messed that idiom up, during one of their last conversations. She had seen too many funerals. There were too many days which did not have to be marked in her calendar to make her sad. This rodeo was different, she had told Schmeil during their early morning call.

 _Is it because I am the last one_? she had asked, as he sipped his tea, half a world away. _Is it because I am all alone?_

 _But, remember child, you are not alone_ , Schmeil had offered, as their conversation closed.

"Then we can work that out," he said. "I found the candle. When do we light it?"

"Later," she said, as she took it from his hand. Holding it in a tight grip. Would this little ritual, lift the weight that heaved on her shoulders? Would it help her heal?

"Okay," he said. "Whenever you're ready."

"I feel this duty to him," she said. "Even now, that he is gone, I still feel this duty to him. I do not want to feel so bound. I want to be free of this feeling."

"Maybe, it'll come with time," he said.

Time healed. At least that's the agage they brought into. Hope. They had to hope. Because, the other options, were too bleak.

"I hope so," she whispered. "I just wish. I just wish, I could remember him, as I did as a child. That is what he said, just before he died. He said he wanted me to look at him, like I did as a child."

An anger stewed in Tony's gut as he heard her words. Eli was always asking something of Ziva. Always acting like Ziva was in the wrong.

"And, I wish I could. I wish I could only remember the good times." she continued. "Even when I try to, the bad creeps in, and taints it."

She wanted to remember that time he smiled when she found the afikomen, in her Uncle's house. How big she felt, sitting on his shoulders, her holiday dress already mud stained. His shirt, crumpled as she held onto his shoulders.

She wanted to remember, how excited she would get when she saw his jacket hanging off a chair, after a long time away. How she would hold him tight, even though he smelt different, like gunpowder, cigarettes and whiskey. _Abba. Abba, I missed you,_ she would cry.

She wanted to remember the olive groves, and those rare times he laughed. His hearty laugh would fill the room.

 _You are loyal to me, and only to me._ He had shouted at her once. Loyal even in death. The duty that loyalty brought, how it burdened her. It burdened her then. It burdened her now. Would she ever cut herself free?

"Whatever you want to remember," he started. "It's okay."

"I still feel this anger toward him," she continued. "And then, I am angry at myself for being angry at a dead man."

Would she ever find the peace, she so desperately craved?

"He was your Dad," he begun.

She frowned, referring to her father, as a Dad felt so foreign. _Dad. Dad. Dad._ It made it sound like her father had been one of those men who pushed strollers. Men who tied little shoe laces, during the busy school run. Men who brought ice cream on a hot day, just to make their kids smile. Her father had not been like that. Her father had been distant. Her father had always been away. Her father had left her to die.

"And he was complicated," he continued, "It's okay for this to still be complicated."

 _Complicated runs in the family_ , he had said to her once upon a time. Oh, how apt it felt now.

"You sound like my therapist," she declared. "But, she used bigger words."

She had been so apprehensive about therapy. _Weakness, this is weakness_ , Eli's voice had echoed in her head. Still, she went week after week. Some sessions were better than others. The therapist promise Ziva, that progress was being made.

The sea was starting to feel less choppy, maybe she could simply stretch her arms out and float, instead of trying to avoid drowning.

"I bet she did," he whispered, a soft smile over his sandy features. "It's good that you talked to her about this with her. It's good."

 _You're doin' good kid_ , Gibbs had whispered to her, when she had seen him at Leyla's Christmas party, just weeks beforehand.

"We can just play today, by ear," he murmured, rubbing her back, fingers running down the bumps of her spine. "Whatever you need."

"First, I need breakfast," Ziva declared, and both of them burst into laughter. Such sweet laughter. They should laugh more, he thought. Soon, they would laugh more.

"I think I can organise that," he said, as he started to get up.

 **A/N** : Thanks for all the love, and reviews. I'll reply to the non-guest ones, very soon.

I don't own a thing.


	3. Always Out of Love

They did not usually stay in his apartment. Her apartment was marginally closer to both of their jobs, and if he had to admit it, her apartment is nicer. Cosier. Her apartment felt like home.

His apartment is closer to the hospital. The hospital, where Delilah lay with a piece of shrapnel embedded in her spine. She would never walk again. She faced a lifetime of complications. She was in immeasurable pain. Yet, for the brief moment they had seen her, when they had stopped in to talk to McGee, she seemed in good spirits. Even flashing them a smile, and a shaky wave from behind the window in the ICU.

 _She'll be okay_ , they'd both said to each other, as they drove home. _She'll be okay_.

"We should sleep," Ziva whispered, as they lay facing each other. She ran her hand down his bare chest. "We both have to get up early."

"Can't," he replied, as he rested his hand on her hip. Running his finger along, an old scar, from a lifetime ago.

What had made such a mark, he wondered. A bullet graze, maybe. Or, Saleem's dirty knife. Possibly from that explosion in Morocco. She had cheated death so many times.

"We should try," she said. All they could do was try.

"Do you think, they'll be okay?" he finally asked, after a few minutes of quiet. She looked at him for a second, trying to gauge what he was saying.

"Tim said, Delilah is adjusting," Ziva uttered delicately. She did not know the McGirlfriend well, and wondered honestly if Delilah had even reacted to the trauma yet. A long road awaited her. "But these things are not in a straight line."

One step forward, two steps back.

"I know," he said, moving his hand up to her face. "She's strong."

Both he and McGee had chosen strong women. Such strong amazing women. So many conversations now, were spent gushing about their brilliant girlfriends, while they tackled traffic jams or stakeout. _She's just so amazing_ , McGee had said, just a few days ago.

"Very," came Ziva's reply.

"They'll make it," he whispered. He was willing it into the universe. A hope. A prayer. They had to make it. "They will make it."

"He was too afraid to go into her room," Ziva said, with a sigh.

"He was in shock," Tony uttered. "He just needed some time. He's there now. Isn't that what matters?"

The question hung in the air. Unanswered.

"Her whole life has changed," Ziva continued. "Everything has changed for her. She will have to relearn so much."

Abby being Abby, had already researched everything. Delilah faced weeks, if not months, in a rehab facility, and would have to master so many new skills; dressing herself, navigating the world from a chair, something called waste management. A whole life would need to be rebuilt.

"He won't leave her," Tony whispered, nodding slightly. He was sure of it. "McGee is a better man than that."

"I never said he'd leave her," Ziva uttered. "I know he is a good man."

"No," Tony said, with a heavy sigh, "but you implied it."

"They have only been together a few months," Ziva continued. "Things are still so tentative."

"They've been together since May," Tony interrupted. "Just like us."

Things weren't tentative between them, he thought. Were they?

"But they are not like us," Ziva said softly.

No, they were normal, he thought. Well, as normal as two people with their security clearances could be. They were smart. They were less traumatised by the horrors of the world. Slightly, less neurotic.

"No," Tony said, with a heaving breath. "They were better at getting it together. They didn't have our timing issue."

They didn't have eight years of friendship, and bad times, to back it up. This was the first storm, they would have to weather, and it was a big one. Perhaps the biggest, they would ever face.

"This is a big change," Ziva whispered. "For both of them."

 _This is a big change_ , he'd told her in the car when they were driving to Gibbs' house that previous summer. They were set to get their badges back. He already knew Ziva would refuse hers. He knew it was for the best. Her heart wasn't in it anymore. Still a part of him ached for things to go back to normal, for the two of them to partners again. For the two of them to be chasing bad guys, and saving the world.

 _This is a big change_ , he said as the sped through late afternoon traffic _for both of us_.

"What are you saying?" he asked. His stomach twisted. Anxiety pulsed through him. Would he like what came next?

"I am saying, some couples do not survive big changes," Ziva said bluntly. "Especially something so traumatic."

"They're not just any couple," Tony said. "They work. They get each other. They argue in binary for god's sake."

 _We're not just any couple_ , he was try to say. _We work_. _We get each other._ _We quote books that get made into movies at each other._

"Her whole life has changed," Ziva continued. "She will measure her life, in before and after this event."

He knew this. He knew Ziva had events, plural, that she measured her life in. Before her sister died. Before that summer in Somalia. Before she became a fully fledged orphan, and jumped on the revenge train, with Ilan Bodnar her only target.

"She will not be the same," Ziva said, with a sigh. "Maybe, she will make choices about the people in her life."

"Are you saying, maybe she'll let him go?" Tony asked, wondering if Ziva was really talking about Delilah. "You think she'd tell him to go find someone else."

"Maybe," Ziva whispered. "If she thinks he would be happy."

"Well, she's out of luck," he said. "Because old McGPS is like one of those homing pigeons, he'll find his way back. He loves her you know. He told me."

 _I love her_ , McGee had said, as they stopped to get food. Ordering extra, because Ellie had described herself as starving. _I love her so much. It hurts sometimes, that's how much I love her._ Tony had simply nodded in agreement.

"I know," Ziva said, swallowing thickly. "I also know, he is a good man."

 _You are a good man Tony_ , how many times had she said that to him. Even months down the line he was no closer to fully believing it.

"The best," Tony said, as he reached over and tugged Ziva closer to him.

"Do you think they will make it?" Ziva asked, looking up at him. Hadn't that been his question.

"I think they'll try," he said. She nodded in agreement. "They'll try really damn hard."

"I hope so," she uttered. "I really do."

He leaned ever closer. Flicking a curl from her face. He knew where this came from. The belief that the worst would happen. One can not undo a lifetime of hurt. But a part of him, still tried. Still he tried, to rewrite the script she had in her head. She would get her happy ending.

"I think we'll make it, too," he said softly.

"I was not talking about us," she whispered. Not consciously anyway.

"Don't try and tell me, it didn't cross your mind about what would happen, if it was you," he whispered. Trying to swallow a bitterness that he now tasted on his tongue. "Don't try and tell me, that you weren't talking about yourself, when you were talking about how relationships change, and how maybe she'll set him free."

"I was talking about them," Ziva uttered, voice firmer. "Not everything is about us."

"I know," he whispered. "But I have to know, what would you do?"

"I do not know," she said, blowing out a big breath. "I will admit, that if something like that had happened last year, I would have pushed you or anyone else away."

"You did," he uttered.

"I do not recall being embedded with shrapnel in the last year," she said tartly. "Or anything remotely similar."

"Your Dad died," he whispered. "You pushed people away."

She wanted to tell him, that becoming an orphan, and losing use of one's legs, were not on the same level of catastrophic events. Everybody, because an orphan eventually, it was the cycle of life. What happened to Delilah was unforeseen.

"I know," she said with a heavy sigh. "But, as I was trying to say, things are different now, yes?"

She had turned her whole life upside down, and was scrambling to find which pieces still fit together. She was trying to build a better life. Rome wasn't built in a day, she told herself. Yet, still the road felt long. Still the obstacles got in her way. Still, she wondered how she would face them.

"Yeah," he said.

"We were not even together then," she continued. A post elevator us, he had called them, as he tried to find out who her Schmeil was.

"No," he said. "But we were evolving."

They had been so close, in those months between the explosion at the Navy Yard, and her father's death. They had been so damn close.

"Yes," she said, with a half smile, that quickly faded, as the dark thoughts came. "I do not want you to ever feel duty bound to me. If something like that were to happen to me, I would want staying, to be a choice."

Loving her was not a choice. She enchanted him, with her belief in making things better, with her mixed up words, and her desire to build a better future. Staying, that was a choice he made. Most days it was easy. Some days not so much. Even on the bad days, he was glad he made the choice.

"I would," he whispered, flashing her his thousand watt smile. "I would stay."

"I know," she said, holding his gaze.

A darkness washed over him, and he looked away.

"I mean chances are that you'd end up having to make that choice." he said, still looking away. "I'm the one with the dangerous job."

How many times, had he slipped money into a collection pot, for a cop buddy, who suddenly had to face the rest of his life from a wheelchair, or missing a limb.

How many times, had he put on his best black suit to attend another funeral, watching as the widow sobbed.

How many times, had it almost been them. Oh so many times, had it almost been them.

"Delilah was not on the job, when she got hurt," Ziva soothed. She was being celebrated for her job. "She was not even the target."

Collateral damage. They had both seen too much of that.

"If I got hurt, would you stay?" he asked. His lips quivering. So scared of her answer. So worried that a 'no' would slip from her lips.

"Of course," Ziva whispered, as she tugged under his chin, asking him to look at her. "There is no question."

 _It is us versus the world_ , she had said him a dozen times. _Yes_ , always came his reply.

"Out of duty," he asked, still unable to fully meet her gaze. "Or love."

"Love," she said. "Always, out of love."

And, that seemed to be enough. She watched as his eyelids slowly drooped, and after a few moments of quiet, sleep finally overtook him. Soon enough, she let herself fall into slumber.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

I also haven't watched an episode past 11x02, so if the facts are a little off, regarding Delilah getting hurt, I apologize.

Also, the direction the muse seems to be taking this in, is sort of an exploration of them in their first year together. Some happy moments, but mostly angsty-ish because it's these two. That means it will (very) loosely be following canon of S11. If that not your jam, feel free to jump off the bus.

Thanks, so much for all the lovely reviews and love.


	4. Raincheck

Valentine's Day fell on a Friday in 2014, and like so many of the couple population, Tony had plans to spend the weekend with his love. He had even managed to put in for a half day on the Friday, to make it even more special, and to beat the traffic heading out of the city. Then Emerson's team narrowly escaped death, and team Gibbs' went on standby. Then they got the bat signal. A Marine had managed to get themselves killed, not far from the quaint little Virginia town, where Tony had intended to take her.

So, he stood in front of the window, looking out onto the Navy Yard. His phone was pressed to his ear, the call being patched through. His gut twisted.

"Hi Tony," she said on the third ring. Her voice was warm, and buoyant. He wondered if her perky little ponytail had bounced as she grabbed the phone.

She had been in such a good place lately. They'd been in such a good place lately. They were so excited for their weekend away.

"Have you packed yet?" he asked, wincing as he said the words. He suspected she had, she always did pack a good go-bag.

A sigh slipped from Ziva's mouth, and she made no effort to catch it.

"No," she said, a chill seeping through her voice. "Do you have a case?"

"Yeah, an overnighter," he said, as he watched turned around, and leant on the wall between the window and the elevator. He watched as pint-sized Ellie, paced the space between the desks, having a very tense conversation with Mr. Ellie. "Emerson's team was supposed to be on duty this weekend, but-"

"I heard about Diaz taking a bullet," she interrupted. He wondered how, Abby maybe, but he did not question it.

"Can we raincheck?" he asked.

"We do not exactly have a choice in the matter," she said. "Besides, this will work out better, I would like to finish my paper."

When he had stopped by the previous evening, with takeout, he had found her pacing the living room of her apartment. Her laptop, was open, and every spare inch of table, was blanketed in paper. Despite being an older student, she had quickly succumb to the student curse, of both procrastination, and perfectionism in equal parts. The essay she had written was arguably much better than anything he'd ever turned in, and yet she was still stressed about it.

"You've beaten that paper half to death," he declared. "It's a great essay."

"It has been a very long time since I have written anything except a case report," she said, repeating the same concerns she had the night before, as he read over the paper in question, while stuffing chinese food in his mouth. "And English is not my first language."

This was a strange version of Ziva. He was so used to her brazen confidence. Her ability to walk into any situation guns blazing. He knew this part of her, had always existed, but was locked away. Yet for him, she unlocked it, and showed her vulnerability. The world they had made for themselves, was one built on trust.

"I'm telling you, you'll get an A," he declared. "No, an A plus."

She certainly had not needed her Introduction to Psychology class, to teach her about obedience to authority. She had already lived a thousand lives, and knew far too much about the horrors of the world. However, she had made a fairly convincing argument about the cultural context to Milgram's experiments.

She let out a throaty chuckle.

"You are biased," she said. "Still, I will make use of this extra time."

He nodded to himself. Maybe he'd get off easy. Maybe, he'd brag to McLoverboy and Probie 2.0 that his partner had been the most understanding of the bunch, and she didn't even have a security clearance anymore.

"So, you're not disappointed?" he asked.

He thought of that cozy little inn, where they had booked the little getaway. Away from the difficult days. Away from the day-to-day stress. They had been like ships in the night, in recent weeks; between his caseload, her college classes, and him taking on McGee's paperwork, so he could visit Delilah. They were going to have some quality time, just for them, they'd decided.

"I am," she said. And, with that his heart broke in half. "But it will pass. Perhaps, it is like you said, we are not Valentine's Day people."

So much for getting off easy, he thought.

"I only said that, because I didn't have your present yet," he said.

She did another almost laugh. It sounded so sweet, as it rang in his ears.

"Well now, you have two extra days to get me a present," she said. "The flowers get cheaper tomorrow, yes?"

Once, this case was over, he decided, he would turn up to her apartment with the best bunch of flowers in the world. He didn't care how much it cost.

"I'll make it up to you," he said. "Seriously, whatever you want?"

He'd try and get her the moon, if she asked. She deserved the damn moon. No, the whole universe.

"There is nothing to make up for," she said, the warmth slipping back into her voice. Maybe, she was shedding the disappointment, like autumn leaves. "We will have many more Valentine's Day, we will have many more weekends away. This is just one day."

She'd hitched her horse, to his beaten up old-wagon, with much thought. Sure it took them a long time, to actually get together, but not it was an all-in situation. How easily, and fully she had committed to him. It scared him, just a little bit, how much faith she had in him. How much she believed him.

"I know," he said. "It still sucks."

"Yes, it does," she admitted, he could picture her face etched with a deep frown.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked.

"Like I said, I am disappointed, but it will pass," she repeated, agitation lacing through her voice.

"It's just," he said, before pausing. Maybe, he shouldn't run his mouth.

"It is just, what?" she asked.

He sucked in a deep breath, then let the thought he was holding in out into the world. On its own.

"Ray left you in a restaurant for three hours," he began, listing a past she was far too familiar with, "And you said, that your Dad used to leave you hanging, all the time. I don't want to be that guy, Ziva."

His thought was out into the world, it stood wobbling, like a newborn foal.

On the other end, Ziva gulped.

"You are not Ray," she said, her voice softer much than it had been before. "And, you are definitely not my father. I do not expect you to make up for their sins."

A part of him wanted too. He wanted to be the guy who was always there. He didn't want, her life to become a rerun of her mother's. He didn't want to be his Dad, leaving a wake of disappointment. Yet, the apple didn't seem to fall too far from the tree.

"I know," he said shakily. Still he felt like he should. He felt like he had to give her the happy ending she deserved, because so many people had tried to take it away from her.

"I hope so," she whispered.

"You know, I've made these kinda phone calls, probably a hundred times, to dozens of women," he begun. He could picture her rolling her eyes, at talk of his previous playboy life.

"I have made these calls a few times too," she declared. Even though her time as agent, already seemed like a lifetime ago. To both of them.

"But, it never really mattered then," he continued. "I mean it sucked, but my priority was always work. I always put work first."

Two cups. Could he fill them both?

Or, would he have to chose one over the other, like he always had.

Maybe, for once he would chose the family cup.

"I know," she whispered. "I am not going to ask you to chose, Tony. You love your job, you are good at your job. You can have both."

He wasn't convinced.

"I know," his voice not more than a sigh. "It just kinda sucks today."

She had been talking about her mother a lot in recent weeks, making him wonder if it came up in therapy. She always talked about her mother, through food, and she had been cooking more of late, perhaps out of procrastination. Her apartment seemed to always smell of roast eggplant, and have thick winter stew in the slow cooker. She had told him, how her mother used to beg Eli to chose his family over his job. How the drama of it all had made Rivka David bitter, and sour like the lemons she liked to put in her tea. Ziva had told him, how once with Ray, she had said something, that had sounded exactly like something her mother had said once. How that had scared her.

 _I thought about it for weeks after,_ she had said as they ate her mother's recipe for kugel, _I told myself, I would not become like her. I would not just wait for a man. Yet, I did not learn my lesson, I still waited for him._

He didn't want their relationship to be torn apart by his job. Sequels were almost never better than the originals. She was already once burnt, twice shy.

All she would have to do, is ask, and he'd hand in his badge. It would hurt. It would physically hurt, but he would. He would do it for her. She knew that, he hadn't told her, but she knew it deep down.

For now, he would attempt to balance two cups. Work and family. One might spill over, while the other ran empty for a bit, but it would all equalise in the end.

"Somebody is hurting," she whispered. "And, you will make it a little bit better for them."

Someone was hurting, and he was there to clean up the mess. The team would solve the case, but they would see humanity at its worst. What horrible things humans could do to each other.

Yet, she still believed that he helped. How easy it was to romanticize the job, when she had laid down her guns.

He watched as Ellie hung up her phone call, and let out a long heavy sigh. Things had definitely not gone well. McGee had finished his phone call, and was packing his stuff. Gibbs, was standing by the elevator, wearing his fiercest glare. It pierced right through him.

"Bossman, is giving me the death stare," Tony said, as he adjusted the backpack on his other shoulder. It felt heavier than normal. "I gotta go."

"I am surprised, he even let you talk this long," she muttered.

Ziva always was Gibbs' favourite. If this was any other personal call, he'd have been head slapped into the elevator by now. Yet, Tony could not imagine making this kind of call with anyone else.

It was her. It would always be her. It was only ever her.

"So, am I," he declared, as a smile crossed his face. "I love you. I'll call you before we hit the hay."

Realistically, it would probably be an all-nighter kind of case. If he was lucky, he might be able to take a nap before dawn, but he hoped to steal a few minutes to talk to her before nine. To say goodnight.

"I love you, too," she replied. "I would like that. One more thing."

McGee and Ellie were at the elevator, backpacks hanging off their shoulders, and cellphones pressed to their ears, already in a case mode. Gibbs had his fingers out beckoning him, and a manila folder pressed under his arm. Tony could feel the head slap brewing, from ten feet away.

"Yes," he said, not willing to hang up just yet. Just a few moments longer.

"I expect a really good present," she said, before erupting into a laugh, to tell him she was joking.

He pictured her, in her apartment maybe, the winter sun streaming through the windows. Her papers over her dining table. Her curls bouncing, as she let out a full belly laugh. He loved to see her laugh. He loved watching the joy flow through her.

He laughed too. A full belly laugh. Everything would be okay. It sucked a little just now, but everything would be okay, in the end.

"You'll love it," he said. "I promise."

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

This seems to have developed from a series of one-shots gathered together, into something with a plotline. The plot line is basically, these two crazy kids, stumbling through their first year, and talking. Oh so much talking. Chapters will be slightly more connected moving forward.

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Especially guest reviews. Hi Fred, and Sue! Hi other Guest(s)!


	5. Times Have Changed

Tim could feel the exhaustion seep through to his bones, as he sat down in a diner in a truck stop in the middle of nowhere. The seat made a squelchy noise as he sat down. The waitress came over with coffee, and a frown etched deep into her youthful face. McGee blinked a few times, then leaned further into the seat.

He closed his eyes for just a second. A long second.

It had been a long few weeks, since Delilah had gotten hurt. She had spent some time in the ICU, and now was in a rehab facility, learning how to do everything all over again. Delilah's mother had dropped everything, and was there with her. Tim, still liked to call every day, and had hoped to visit for the weekend.

The murmur of Tony's voice, disturbed his musings, and he opened his eyes.

"Love you too," Tony said into the phone, before hanging it up, and slipping it into his pocket. He waved a paper menu in McGee's face. "We keepin ya up, McSleepyhead."

McGee rolled his eyes. It had been Tony who insisted they stop off for some dinner, and so he could relieve himself. All Tim wanted to do, was go to sleep, in his own bed, with Delilah next to him. As the case wore on, it looked like he wasn't even going to manage two out of three.

"It's weird seeing you do that," McGee murmured, as he focused on the menu. None of the food seemed particularly appealing.

It was just so weird, that Tony and Ziva were together now. Not just sleeping together, either. Properly together. Committed, secure, and happy.

So very happy.

"What's weird?" Tony asked, as he poured two packets of sugar into his cup.

It was also very strange, not to have Ziva work with them. Still, when McGee had properly talked to her last, during the winter holidays, he had been struck, by how at peace she seemed. A peace she would have never achieved, had she not bowed out of the fight.

"You know," McGee said. "Earlier, when you were on the phone."

"It's weird seeing me talk on the phone," Tony said, his eyebrow raised high.

McGee sighed to himself. Tony was going to play this game.

"I mean you were talking to Ziva," McGee continued.

"Yeah," Tony said, as he drunk his coffee. "But, you've seen me talk to Ziva on the phone before."

"Yeah," McGee conceded. "But it's different, now."

"Yeah," Tony replied dragging out the word, and letting his tongue touch his lip. He looked into the distance. "It is different now."

Different, it certainly was. _Everything has changed_ , Abby had whined a few weeks ago. Abby never did well with change.

"Were you two an item, the whole time?" McGee asked.

Tony let out a half-laugh.

"For someone with your IQ, you've got a bad memory," Tony said. "There are plenty of times, where Ziva and I were the opposite of together, and plenty of other times, where we were seeing other people."

How much water his two friends had put under the bridge. If he'd written it, his agent would have called him crazy. Nobody else, would have survived the storms those two had, and come out stronger.

"Still," McGee prompted. "There were times, when it really seemed like you two were."

"Where it seemed like what?" Tony asked, as the waitress walked toward them, notepad in hand.

The waitress took their orders. Tony muttered something about healthy eating going out the window. McGee ordered with trepidation. The waitress refilled their coffees.

"You should know by now, I don't kiss and tell. It's a DiNozzo rule," Tony said, the minute the waitress was out of earshot.

"Last time I saw your Dad, I got a play-by-play of how he met your next stepmother," McGee declared.

The stories Senior had to tell could make Leroy Jethro Gibbs blush, if he was capable of such a thing.

"He's not proposed to Linda, yet," Tony said. Tim noted the yet. "Besides, this DiNozzo doesn't kiss and tell."

Not about her, anyway. McGee knew this. Even before, when it came to Ziva, it all mattered so much more. Tony would do anything for her.

"I'm just curious," McGee said, as he took a sip of coffee. "We all worked together, for such a long time."

The three musketeers, Abby had once jokingly called them, as they bickered in the squadroom. McGee liked Ellie, and was more than impressed with her brain, but sometimes nostalgia got to him, making him miss the old days.

"I know," Tony said. "But, it's not like you think. It wasn't like _No Strings Attached_ , we only got together after we handed in our badges."

McGee wondered for a moment, who exactly had gotten Tony to sit through a chick flick like _No Strings Attached_ , then again did love most things Natalie Portman. Mislaid patriotism, she had called it once.

"Like a minute after," McGee mumbled.

When the two of them had returned from Israel, and Ziva had announced she was not coming back, Tim and Abby had spent a lazy summer afternoon in her lab, trying to work out the timeline of it all. They had been left with more questions than answers. Like always, when it came to Tony and Ziva.

"Yeah," Tony said with a nod, "But, it had been building for a long time. We were close, you know."

"I know," McGee whispered.

He remembered the inside jokes, the lingering looks, and the protectiveness the two shared. He also remembered, how many witness, metro detectives, and bad guys, thought that Tony and Ziva, were partners both professionally, and personally..

"I guess you could kinda say it was kinda like _When Harry Met Sally_ except we were friends the whole time, crossed with _Mr and Mrs Smith_ ," Tony said.

McGee laughed so hard he snorted.

"I never thought it would actually happen," McGee finally admitted, after he came down from his fit of giggles.

"You wrote a book about us," Tony declared, throwing his hands in the air. "You thought it would happen. You believed."

"Back then, you two were always so, you know," McGee said shrugging his shoulders. He might be a writer, but at that moment words failed him,"I figured you'd hook up, but it would be volatile. I figured everybody would get hurt."

He thought, the two of them would hook up, then fail to let down their defences, and that it would probably end with them trying to kill each other. For them love would be a dangerous game.

"Well, there's still a chance it'll end in tears," Tony said.

Tim hoped not, as bemused as he was by the whole thing, he wanted his friends to be happy. They deserved it.

"You'll try and avoid that, right?" McGee asked.

"Of course," Tony said, letting out a deep sigh. "I don't want to hurt her, Tim. I really don't want to hurt her."

Tony's words were small, and seemed to physically hurt him, as they came out. He wore a look on pure anguish.

"I know," McGee said softly.

Tony swallowed thickly, then looked up as the food came. He had plastered his thousand-watt grin on his face. It was a good mask.

"So, now that the real deal are together," Tony begun as he stuffed bacon into his mouth. "Are you gonna get Tommy and Lisa back together in the books?"

McGee had honoured his contract with the publisher, and completed the LJ Tibbs chronicles as a trilogy. The third book had ended, with Tommy permanently injured and newly retired, sitting on a beach, and smiling as he saw a familiar face. It was deliberately left unclear, whether the familiar face, was Lisa who had quit Mossad two chapters beforehand, or Joelle who had been Tommy's doctor lover, when he was undercover. McGee himself, had never quite know how to end it, going back and forth about who he thought came to see Tommy on the beach.

"No, I'm done with those," McGee said. "I don't really write any more."

Tom E Gemcity had retired. He had a manuscript for a fantasy detective novel on his computer, but he was unsure it that would ever see the light of day.

Tony spilt egg on his shirt, and wiped it off with a napkin. McGee took a tentative bite of the soggy toast. The food was even less appealing, in actuality, than it had been as words on a menu.

"So, was Delilah pissed, about you spending your Valentine's weekend with me, not her?" Tony asked. "I'm guessing she wasn't quite as pissed as Mr Ellie or Mrs Autopsy Gremlin."

At the crime scene, they had heard Ellie and Palmer, console each other in how annoyed their spouses were with the unexpected call out, on Valentine's Day. McGee and Tony had stayed quiet, and Gibbs had rolled his eyes, and made a reference to his many divorces.

"Was Ziva?" McGee asked.

She might have laid down her guns, but McGee reckoned Ziva could still pack a punch.

"I asked first," Tony replied, not looking up from his food.

"Sorta, not really," McGee said, "I think Delilah forgot it was Valentine's Day. She said rehab is really warping her sense of time. She's off the serious pain meds now, so that should help things."

Tony swallowed thickly. Even weeks after the fact, people still struggled with how to react with the news that Delilah had been so severely injured. Tim, himself was still struggling with the adjustment. Delilah seemed to have taken it all in stride.

"Hows she doing?" Tony asked, McGee ran his hand over his phone, and show Tony his pictures. Delilah sitting up, without any support, for the first time weeks. Delilah testing out a wheelchair. Delilah with a huge smile on her face, having dressed herself in a new record time.

"She's good," McGee said. "She's being really positive. She's itching to get back to work, she was up for a promotion, before this all happened."

"Is she all by herself at that rehab place?" Tony asked.

"No," McGee said softly. "Her Mom's there. She dropped everything."

"Oh," Tony said, moving the tomato around on his plate. He always got like this, when people mentioned happy families. Ziva used to, as well. "That's good."

"Yeah," McGee said. "I still wanted to be there. I wanted to make our first Valentine's Day together, special."

"Well look at that," Tony said. "We're like two peas in a pod, or as my girlfriend would say two peas in a pot. Both of us wanting the same thing."

"She knows that one," McGee said, with a smirk. "It's weird hearing you, call her your girlfriend."

"It's what she is," Tony said. "For now, anyway."

"For now," McGee echoed, eyebrows raised high. "Are you planning to propose?"

No wonder, he seemed so bummed about missing Valentine's Day.

"That's very Abbyish of you, McNosy," Tony said, as a smile crossed his face. "And no, not right now, but it's in the five year plan. Quite early in the five year plan. These things do typically have an order; and Ziva can be quite a traditional girl."

McGee coughed in surprise. Tony DiNozzo had a five year plan. If this had been a year ago, McGee would have thought it be a joke.

"Eight years ago, you could barely commit to a three day weekend," McGee said, "And Ziva. Ziva was. Well, Ziva was very different."

The Ziva of years past was Jane Bond and GI Jane, with a bit of Black Widow vibe going on. The Ziva of now, was softer, but unbelievably strong, and McGee could almost forget she had ever been a Mossad assassin.

"Who'd have thought it?" Tony said, still smiling. "Ziva's changing. I'm changing. We're changing together. We're not gonna screw this up."

"Yeah," McGee said softly.

They were all changing. Growing up, and getting serious. They both had girlfriends, they hoped to someday make their wives, if their wonderful girlfriends would have them. Maybe, after working with Gibbs' for long enough, they were finally starting to heal the scars left by their less than stellar Dad's. Maybe, they had all seen what Jimmy had with Breena, and wanted a piece of that. Maybe, they had taken finally taken Gibbs' advise, and make an effort not to become him.

"It's whole new world," Tony continued. "A brave new world."

"How is Ziva, anyway?" McGee asked.

He had seen her a couple of weeks ago, but that had been just days after Delilah got hurt, and they had not really talked. Tim had found, more than a few foil cover casseroles on his doorstep, that were clearly made by Ziva.

"You should ask her yourself," Tony said. He often did this when people asked after Ziva, not wanting for Ziva to lose touch with the people she was close too. "Have you stopped texting her? Is it because she's kicking your butt in that online scrabble you two nerds play. You know how competitive, she can be."

"No," McGee said. "It's just with everything. Besides, she's taking more classes this semester, isn't she? She must be busy. Is she enjoying them?"

"Yeah," Tony said, with a smile. "You know, I always knew Ziva was smarter than me, but I think she might be smarter than you."

McGee smiled to himself, he was so glad for his friend.

"Was she pissed about Valentine's Day?" he asked.

"She said she was disappointed, but said she would get over it," Tony replied.

"I suppose she gets it," McGee whispered.

It hadn't been too long, since she had worked with them. It hadn't been too long, since Ziva would have been making those calls, with them.

"Too well," Tony said softly. Too damn well.

"Yeah," McGee said swallowing thickly. "You'll make it up to her, right?"

"I'm going to make a very expensive trip to the jewelry store, the minute this case is solved," Tony said.

"I think she'd settle for flowers," McGee replied. Though he wondered, if he had ever seen Ziva receive flowers, the entire time they worked together.

"I'd already ordered the gift, before we even got the bat signal," Tony muttered. "She likes earings, and she doesn't have to worry about getting them caught on stuff anymore. Besides, it's our first Valentine's Day, I've got to set the standard. I don't want her settling for anything, or anyone."

Once upon a time, when Tony was slimmer and McGee still hadn't shifted his freshman fifteen, a decade out of college, Tony had told him the trick was to never get too expensive a gift for a woman, as it set an unrealistic expectation. Oh, how times had changed.

"I'm sure, she'll love them," McGee replied.

He had gotten Delilah a rare first edition of a comic book, they both shared an interest in, and now found himself unable to shake the idea that he should have gotten her something more traditional.

The waitress shuffled past them, and left the bill on the table.

"Look at us, McGoo," Tony said, as he settled the bill for both of them, despite it being McGee's turn to pay. "Being grown ups."

"Feels good," McGee said. "Doesn't it?"

"It does," Tony said, with a smile.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

I know, it's not strictly a T/Z chapter, but considering these two spent most of the chapter gushing about their loves, I hope you enjoy it. I also, really wanted to get an 'outsider' view on it all. The next chapter will be T/Z.

Also, like I said before, I haven't seen an episode since 11x02, but I don't know how exactly, they dealt with Delilah's injury.

Thanks for the reviews, favs, follows, and general love.


	6. Saturday Morning

Tony was exactly, where Ziva expected him to be, when she slipped into her apartment on a cold and blustery Saturday, just after midday. He was laying on her couch, wearing only boxers, and doing something on her laptop. His hair stood up, in little spikes. Like a pocruswine, no like a porcupine.

She hung her coat up, and placed the take-away coffee on the kitchen counter.

"Hi," he said, turning slightly, as she moved toward the couch. She shook a white paper bag in front of him. Before placing a kiss on his lips.

"Hi," she said. "Shall we eat at the table."

He smiled, and moved the laptop away, before making an effort to get up.

She returned to the dining table, with two plates, and moved her sociology textbook out of the way, for him to sit. She unwrapped the sandwiches, and he appeared in front of her, having located a shirt, and picked up the coffee cups from the counter. He took of a sip of the one marked for him.

"I missed you this morning," he said, as he stuffed his egg sandwich into his mouth.

She certainly did not love him for his table manners.

"You looked very comfortable when I left," she said, as she took a more delicate bite of her whole-wheat turkey sandwich. A piece of green spinach fell onto her plate.

She had slipped out of bed, not long after the sun rose, leaving him with a kiss, and a promise that she would be back with lunch. He had nodded, half asleep, before wrapping himself in her duvet like a cocoon, and going back to sleep. A peace had washed over him, as he drifted back into the land of slumber.

"You're wearing them," he said, as he took another sip of coffee. Eyes fixed on her face.

She reached her spare hand up to her left ear, and fiddled with one of the earrings, he had presented to her as a belated Valentine's Day present. They were nice, without being flashy, and dangled a little lower, than most of the other earrings she owned. Not that she had to worry about her earings getting caught on things, so much these days.

"They are lovely," she said, "I like them very much. You have good taste."

She had received nothing but compliments on them, when she wore them earlier. Even, the elderly sandwich shop owner, had admired them, as she pondered the selection.

"Careful," he warned softly, "You'll give me a big head."

She had gotten him tickets to an upcoming film festival. His face had lit up, as he read through the program, selecting which of the films, they might go to.

Was is it his love of cinema, which fostered his belief in happy endings.

"That is a very real danger," she murmured sarcastically. "But it is one that has passed."

"You wound me," he said, with mock sadness. He clutched his chest, as the sandwich sat forgotten. "You wound me greatly."

She laughed. He laughed. His eyes crinkled. There was no-one and nothing in their little world, but them and their overpriced sandwiches. Her earrings gleamed in the winter sunlight, that streamed through her apartment window.

Then a look of seriousness washed over him. He was no longer chewing his food, but his mouth, was moving like he was trying to say something.

"Listen," he begun, his words heavy. "I don't want to sound like a jealous boyfriend."

When she had given up the badge, and therefore access to the ability to track his phone, they had made an agreement not ping each others phones. He would always be in more danger of breaking that promise.

"But, you would like to know where I was," she interrupted. Perhaps it was kinder, to say it for him.

"Yeah," he said, biting his lip, and nodding. "It just you seem different. Kinda peaceful, maybe."

She did feel rather peaceful.

"I keep no secrets from you, Motek," she said, as she reached across the table, and took his hand. His ears perked up at the use of the petname. "I went to Shabbat services."

"Like at the synagogue?" he asked.

"That is where these things are typically held," she murmured, trying to limit how much sarcasm seeped into her tone. "Not always, though."

"Okay," he said, before taking another sip of coffee. "That wasn't what I expected to hear."

"Where did you think I had been?" she asked.

"Gym maybe," he said, shrugging his shoulders, as he appraised her outfit. It looked like something she used to wear to NCIS, when she made an effort to follow the dress code. Black dress pants, and a emerald green turtleneck sweater. "Or the library. I know you've been busy with school."

She had an essay due on Wednesday, it was mostly done, but she intended to make a few edits, later that afternoon. It could wait, she had thought as she walked through the door. She would enjoy her Saturday, with Tony. Time together had become increasingly limited of late, and ever more precious.

"It's just you never really mentioned going to services, before," he said, as he took a sip of coffee.

That before was loaded. Before she gave up the badge. Before they decided to make a life, together. Before she had turned their whole world upside down.

"I do not attend services regularly," she said. "And my attendance was even less regular, when I was an agent. We worked so many weekends."

During those years, she was a Liaison officer, she made an effort to show her face at the Conservative Synagogue, frequented by staff from the Israeli embassy. She would show her face, and Officer Bashan would report to her father, that all was well. The whole activity, had very little to do with religion.

"Is this about your Dad?" he asked. His voice, was soft and sweet, like ice cream on a warm day.

She swallowed thickly, and made no effort to hide the dark look that washed over her face. She could not blame Tony for defaulting back to Eli. He had been the root of so much of her pain. Still, she found herself angry at a dead man. Still, so much pain could be traced back to him.

There was still so much, she had to let go.

"No," she said firmly. "Besides, it is not he who made me Jewish, that was my mother."

"So, it is about her?" he asked. His voice was softer now, like it was when their mothers came up.

For years, when they were just partners, mothers had been an off-limits topic, warranting only the briefest of mentions. For years, they would listen as McGee tried to discreetly organise Mothers Day gifts, and lunches, with his sister. Neither Tony or Ziva would talk about the feelings that stewed, but would share longing looks. The Dead Mothers club, was not one, where people queued for membership.

"Does it have to be about anyone?" she asked. "I do not live in constant memorial."

She could see how, he could jump to such a conclusion. Sometimes the weight of all the tragedy she had seen was too much. Sometimes it weighed on her, and she felt like Atlas, trying to carry the whole world. She refused to let tragedy define her. They would not want this, they would want her to live a happy life.

She was trying to move forward, even if she kept getting caught in the past. The past was a fishing net, she kept getting caught in. She kept struggling to break free, but still she was pulled back as the tide shifted.

"It was about me," she whispered, voice soft. "I wanted to go."

She wanted to hear the Hebrew, as the congregation read from the siddur. She wanted to hear the familiar songs. She ached for the familiarity.

"Okay," he said with a nod. "I could have picked you up."

"You looked very peaceful," she murmured, remembering him pulling the covers tighter, as she slipped out from next to him. "You needed to sleep in."

It had been a long case, the one that had derailed their Valentine's plans. He was more reluctant to share details, since she had let go of the badge. The exhaustion, and stress was evident, in the dark rings around his eyes, and the frown lines which ran deep.

"Still," he said. "I'd have gotten up, and gone to pick you up."

"I stayed late," Ziva said, "I was talking to some people. You would have been waiting."

"That's okay," he said, as he ate the last piece of crust from his sandwich. "Maybe, I could come with you, sometime."

"I would not ask you to do that," she soothed.

She could imagine, him next to her, a kippa sitting not quite right on his head, itching to play with his phone, as the service wore on. He would try, but he wouldn't get it.

"I'm offering," he replied.

"Why?" she asked.

He blinked a couple of times.

"It's important to you," he said. "Therefore, it's important to me. Even if it leads to me living a baconless life."

"I would not ask you to convert," she said. "Your bacon is safe, even if it is not that good for you."

"Good," he said, as a smile dawned over his sandy features. "But, I was serious about going with you."

"You do not go to church," she said. "I have never heard you mention it."

He nodded.

"Nah, not really my scene," he said. "I went with Abby once, during Christmas. Before your time."

"You do not go now," she said.

"I believe in the big man upstairs, I think," he said with a gulp. "But I don't do well, with the whole organised side of it. I guess Catholic school beat that out of me. Besides, it doesn't really matter, we already get Christmas and Easter."

She thought of borrowing her neighbours skateboard, and skating through the empty streets of by her apartment during Yom Kippur. She thought of those first Passover holidays, after her mother died, how lost she and Tali felt, as they sat in the empty apartment. She thought of the Purim parade, through Tel Aviv's streets, sitting on her Uncle's shoulders, because her father was _away_. Again.

Would she feel like this, if she had chosen to live there, in a apartment building that swayed in wind. In a country where she did not have to ask for time off, for her observances.

"It is different," she said, with a gulp.

Since she had taken her American citizenship, she had found herself struggling. With what it meant to be a Jew, but not to be Israeli. She was galut, in exile.

Yet how could exile, feel so much like home?

"I know," he said. She wondered how he could possibly think he knew. "I know it matters more to you."

"Much," she said.

"Besides, I should probably learn some things," he said.

"Why?" she asked cocking her head.

"You said, you get being Jewish from your mom right?" he asked.

 _Mom_. How strange that sounded, would her American children, call her? _Mom. Mommy. Mom_.

"Yes," she said, "That is why Ari, was not Jewish."

He averted his eyes at mention of Ari. So seldom did Ziva speak his name. He was always _My Brother_ , which helped a dissonance brew.

"Exactly," he said, coming back to look at her. "When we enrich the world with our offspring, I'll need to know my _Fiddler on the Roof_ , from my _Yentl_."

She smiled. Picturing, for just a moment, a curly haired toddler wriggling on her lap, during a Passover Seder. Would they be granted such an everyday miracle.

"We have a while," she said softly.

They were in no way ready for kids at this point, and even when they were ready, a long difficult road to parenthood was predicted. The scars from Somalia, ran much further than skin deep. Another chapter of her past, which could have a real effect on her future.

"But you don't want me confusing the rugrats," he said. "What if I tell them Purim is after Passover? Or I buy the wrong food?"

"Purim is before Passover," she said softly.

She had tried not to entertain the idea of children too often, perhaps in fear that it would be taken away. Would she raise them in a Jewish house? Daddy Christmas, and Ima Hanukkah.

"Purim is soon right?" he asked.

She wondered if he'd looked this stuff up. His Long Island childhood was so long ago, and from the stories he told he had not had much to do with the Jewish population of Long Island. She suspected like most things in life, his knowledge of Judaism came from cinema.

"Yes," she said. "In a couple of weeks."

She thought of her schooldays, all the children dressed up, and the gift baskets exchanged. Tali always ended up with so many. Tali always had so many friends.

She thought of Tali, dressed up like a Princess. Tali always dressed up like a princess. Ziva always dressed like a boy. _The boys have more fun_ , she had told Tali, as they whispered secrets in the back of her mother's beat-up station wagon, while sad songs played.

She thought of the news, after the bombing of the shopping mall, on the eve of Purim. That was the same year, her mother would be claimed in a similar attack, just months later. They had been to that mall, just the day before. How close death lingered that year.

"That's the one, where we dress up, right?" he asked.

It seemed he didn't have much to learn.

"Yes," she said. "I was thinking of having a small party for Purim, it has been so long since I have seen everyone."

She had not really seen the others socially, since the Winter holidays. The team had been so busy, especially after Delilah was injured. She had seen the others in passing, as they visited Delilah, or tried to spend time with McGee. To keep his spirits up, Tony had called it. Yet, she did not see Tim's spirits wane.

His eyes lit up, Anthony DiNozzo did like a party.

"Maybe, we could invite some of your new friends too," he said.

She frowned. Friendship had not been an easy feat in her new life. She missed the easy camaraderie that came with facing danger with other people. Especially, among other women.

The other women who were age in the college classes, and it was mostly women in those classes, often had children, or a entirely different life experiences. Their goals were clear, go to college, and make more money. Few of them had the option of learning for learning's sake. Few of them, could completely fathom, why Ziva had chosen to let go of such a lucrative job.

She was sort of friends with a woman named Jessica, who sometimes she compared notes with. Jessica, was as tight lipped about her past, as Ziva. Still, she wondered, if Jessica would be interested in such party. They had been talking about non-class related things of late. Maybe, a friendship was budding.

Would Ziva's old life meld with her new? That question had plagued her of late.

"It has been hard to make friends," she said. So little of the last few months had been easy. "But I am trying. I was talking to people after services today. It is a very friendly congregation."

She had realised, as she started to take stock of her life, how few Jewish friends she actually had, beyond Schmeil. It hadn't seemed to matter before, but now the hole felt gaping. Something was missing.

How she longed to have friends, who just got it. How, she longed to mention a holiday, and not have to explain it. The team, were inclusive to a fault, and she suspected would embrace Purim as another "family" tradition. But, it wasn't the same. She wanted friends, who knew the words to the prayers. Friends who had stories from Passover Seders from years back. Friends who had suffered through the awkwardness of a Bat Mitzvah.

"Maybe, we could invite some of them," he said.

"Yes, maybe," she said.

She had been introduced to many new faces, and greeted with warmth, but still found herself unsure. It did not help when she stumbled on the first question that was asked, _So, Ziva what do you do?_ How was she to explain everything.

Her accent was always picked up on. She had heard tales of idealistic years spent living in Jerusalem, and birthright Israel trips. She struggled, to relate. Sure, she recognised the places, they had been too, and could nod as the high price of everything was discussed. But her childhood had been so different. Her life in Israel had been so different.

 _All of our enemies want us dead_ , Ziva, she could hear in the back of her head. Her father haunting her. Still.

It was also a fairly liberal synagogue, and some members had been wanting to practice politics, as soon as they noticed the accent. She knew more about Gaza, than those armchair politicians.

"Or it could just be the usual suspects," he said, perhaps sensing her unease. "Maybe, Delilah will be feeling up to it. We could move the table, give her a bit more room to maneuver. McGoo says she's getting pretty good at driving her new wheels."

She looked around her apartment, moving furniture around in her head. She could picture her chosen family, filling the room with love, laughter, and joy. Abby would probably have the most extravagant costume. Leyla might come along, for a little while with Amira, and solidify Amira's status as the most culturally aware child in her grade. Amria did like to dress up.

"It will be good to see everyone," she said again. "But, I do want to introduce you to some of my new friends, eventually."

Maybe, she could invite Jessica from school over, and they could have a cosy little dinner. Maybe, she could talk more to Rachel, whom she had met at services, who was also in an interfaith relationship. Maybe, they could go on a double date. Hadn't Rachel mentioned that her partner, liked basketball, just like Tony.

"I'd like to meet them," he said, voice soft and calm. "Whenever you're ready."

Maybe, the old could mix with the new after all.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

I'm not Jewish, so obviously I've taken care at talking about stuff I know very little about. If I got something wrong, please understand it wasn't in malice. Please feel free to point me in the right direction, of places to learn.

Also, this chapter owes a lot to some books including Fields of Exile by Nora Gold and The Little Book of Jewish Celebrations by Ronald Tauber.

Updates are going to be every 7-10 days moving forward, because of the time of year, and because I'm moving countries in mid January.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for the reviews, and feedback.


	7. Sunday Morning

His eyes had been open for all of two minutes, when he decided that the weather is far too cold, and gross, to venture out of bed. It was a Sunday, and so far his cell phone hasn't buzzed, he was hoping it would stay that way. He turned over in her much to warm bed, and found her sitting with her knees pressed up, and a textbook resting on them. She was wearing her concentration face. A deep frown, and focused eyes.

"Morning," he drawled, noticing that she had made them both coffee. His steamed from the second nightstand. He had claimed it as his nightstand, with a sports biography sitting under the lamp, and his watch poking out from the drawer.

"Boker Tov," she said, looking up from her textbook.

"I vote that we spend all day in bed," he murmured, as he sat up slightly, in order to take a sip of coffee.

"Your wish is my command," she said, her eyes back on the textbook. He watched as she wrote something down on notepad. Then flipped back and forth between pages. She have must noticed his eyes on her. "I will be done with this soon, then I am all yours."

"Take your time," he said, as he took a sip of coffee. Licking his lips, as the sugar hit them. "We've got all day."

"I am nearly done," she said, frowning as she read over something. "P values are even less thrilling than case reports."

He let out a little giggle, and tried not think of the pile that was waiting for him, when he returned to the office on Monday. Maybe, he could give some of it to Probe 2.0. Ellie, was still so eager to please.

"Maybe, we should invite McNerd to dinner," he said. "He could help you."

Or maybe Ellie, he thought, seeing as she had quite the aptitude for math. Then again, that would odd seeing as Ziva and Ellie hadn't met for more than a few minutes, during the hustle bustle of the holidays.

"Maybe," she echoed, not looking up from the page. "Though he would probably find it very basic."

"Still," he said. "I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

She closed her book, and stowed it away on the shelf under her nightstand. She moved just a tiny bit closer to him. A loose curl tickled his cheek.

"I am sure he would," she said, "But, it would make a very boring dinner conversation."

"Yeah," he said, as she leaned onto his shoulder. His arm snaked around her, pulling her close. "That it would."

She wrapped her leg around his, under the covers. He tugged her a bit closer. He watched, as she absent mindedly fiddled with her necklace.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied, looking up at him, eyes wide.

"Who got you, your new necklace?" he asked, as she stopped fiddling with it.

"I did," she said.

"Oh," came his response, as she picked up the pendant again.

"Who did you think had brought it for me?" she asked, as he studied how it gleamed.

"I dunno," he murmured. "I thought maybe Schmeil, or Gibbs."

She offered him a soft chuckle.

"I do not think either of those two know their way around a jewelry store," she replied.

"Well, Gibbs would know the ring section," he said. She laughed again.

"Schmeil and I," Ziva said with a sigh. "We were not so close then."

He knew parts of this story. Schmeil had known her mother, and had not supported Ziva's choice to pick up her fathers guns. They had kept in touch, as she got caught in her father's world, but only superficially. The closeness they had during her childhood, had only resumed when she became a US citizen.

"I reached out to him," she said, her voice still heavy. "After I came back. I wanted to have a connection to Israel, that was not through my father. I also needed his wisdom, so much was changing."

He patted her shoulder.

"Well, who wouldn't want Schmeil the man of steel in their lives," he said. "I like this necklace, it is different from the other one."

"You remember my old one?" she asked.

"We dangled it out of grate to get cell reception once," he muttered. "In a shipping container, remember?"

She smiled. A full moon of smile. She had been far less careful with that necklace. She had been far less careful back then.

"We have had some adventures," she replied.

"I think we've still got a few left in us," he said. "I like your new necklace. Though it's not really new anymore. Still, I like it."

"I got my old one at my Bat Mitzvah," Ziva said, fiddling with pendant. "My mother gave it to me. She said I was a woman now, and scolded me for having dirt on my dress."

He laughed. A hearty laugh.

"Tali had an identical one," Ziva continued, "I think Nettie must have given it to her. She did not wear hers so often."

"Did you want one that looked the same?" he asked.

"No," Ziva whispered. "My life had changed. I did not want an identical one."

"But, you wanted a replacement?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, with a heavy breath. "This going to sound silly, but I missed it."

"Doesn't sound silly at all," he said.

"Do you remember when we went undercover as the Rainers?" she asked.

"Yes," he said with an enthusiastic smile. Those memories had sustained him for many months during his agent afloat. Those memories were nothing compared to the real thing.

"I had to take it off," Ziva said. "Sophie Rainer was not Jewish. I remember, when I gave it to Jenny to look after, I actually asked her to take care of it."

He could only faintly remember, Ziva sliding the necklace into an envelope and handing it Jenny, whispering something in French, knowing that neither Gibbs or Tony understood. Then she had stepped into Sophie Rainer's expensive shoes, and they were briefed on the mission.

"And after I came back," she said, her voice still far away. She seldom ever said Somalia, but he always knew what she was talking about. "It was only after I brought the new necklace, that I started to feel that I was getting back up. For so long, I felt like I was just sort of floating in a life that was not quite mine."

He remembered her back then. That distant look she would get in her eyes. That night in the Parsian hotel room, where she called out in the throes of a nightmare. He hadn't understood the Arabic that frothed from her mouth, but the fear had echoed in his ears, long after she fell silent.

"You didn't reach out," he murmured.

"How could I?" she asked. "I did not even know how to explain it to myself. I could not explain it to others. Even now it is hard."

She had rushed healing last time. Sitting in the therapist's office, only long enough to be certified sane enough to return to her desk. She had wallpapered over the holes in her psyche. This had been mostly fine, except sometimes when the wind blew through, she felt the paper rip. Now, in her therapy sessions, she ripped the wallpaper off, and worked with the therapist to fill in the holes. It hurt, much more than any bullet wound, but it was needed. She wanted this. She wanted a good life, and so she had to build the foundations.

"But the necklace helped," he asked.

"Yes," Ziva said. "It made me feel better. It made me feel like I was a part of something again. It made me feel like I was making my own choices."

Eli had put a gun in her hand before she had known she could say no. She had been at the mercy of Saleem and his men for all those months. So much of her life had been spent at the mercy of others. He wished he could find a way to time travel, and undo it all. Make it all better.

"Good," he said. "That's really good."

"Why did you ask?" she asked.

"I just kinda wondered," he whispered. "Especially, after the conversation we had yesterday."

Another cold day. Sandwiches at her dinner table. A conversation about religion, as she returned from Shabbat services.

"My necklace, is not just about my religion," she said softly.

"Okay," he said, "You said your mother gave it you at your Bat Mitzvah right?"

"The first one yes," she said.

"Maybe, we'll do that one day with our daughter," he said softly.

He could only really imagine, them with a daughter. With a daughter he wouldn't make his Dad's mistakes. Men always found a reason to hate their fathers.

"You have been very plucky lately," she said.

"I think you mean clucky," he replied. "And the old biological clock is ticking."

Her nose over his mouth. Wild curls. Tiny grubby hands, smearing food on the couch. He wanted it all.

"Men do not have biological clocks," she replied. Women did, and sometimes she heard hers tick. She tried to hard to silence it.

"No," he said, "But I've got a five year plan."

"A five year plan?" she echoed. "What does this involve?"

"The usual," he said. "These things traditionally have an order."

"What things?" she asked.

"You know first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage," he said.

She swallowed thickly. Then blinked a couple of times. He tried to read the emotion. Surprise, maybe.

"You would like to have children within five years?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I mean I'm not getting any younger, and I'd want to be able to chase them around, before needing a knee replacement."

"It might be a hard road," she whispered, her hand resting on her stomach. Would they one day fill it?

"Ssh," he soothed. "That doesn't matter, we'll get there."

"A year ago, you were scared of children," she said. "I remember us looking after Leon's children."

It was so weird to hear her call him Leon. Still, she had the right to do that, now that she had let go of the badge.

"That's because they were hurting," he said. "Didn't want to make them any worse for them."

Both of them had known the pain of losing a mother. He had been a little younger than Jared. She had been about Kayla's age.

"I like to think we made it a little better," she said softly. "For just a moment."

"Yeah," he said, with a sigh. He did too.

"I would like to finish my degree before we have children," she announced, after a few seconds of quiet.

"Okay," he said softly.

He mentally did the math, it was looking like Baby DiNozzo would come to fruition in five years at the very earliest. Longer probably, because they would fighting an uphill battle. How old would he be then? Would he be shuffling along on walker, while the kid took their first steps?

"But, I will be taking summer classes," she said. "I should be done in another two and half years, three at the maximum."

He could already picture her in graduation regalia. A huge smile on her face. Pride radiating off her. He couldn't shake the image, of her with a bowling ball under gown. Maybe, they would be granted such an everyday miracle. Maybe, for once something in their lives would be easy.

"You don't need to rush," he soothed. He could wait. They could have so many adventures in the meantime. There were so many movies, he needed to show her.

"I am not rushing," Ziva assured him, hand resting on his chest. "I would like to get it finished. I enjoy my classes, but I would like to be using my skills to help people. Besides, I do not think I could stand a whole summer with nothing to do."

Her life was hardly empty. She taught self-defense at the women's shelter on Wednesday nights. She had her translation job, two mornings a week, which paid her peanuts compared to her NCIS salary, but she enjoyed it. She had also done some volunteer work at the NGO, Leyla worked at. For a while, she had taken adult ballet classes, but that had dropped off, as her course load grew. She also had friends. And him. She always had him.

"You could just enjoy the summer," he said. Maybe, he would try and wrangle more time off, so they could hang out more. "We've got that trip to the motherland planned."

"Most of the summer classes are online," she told him. "We will still go to Italy. We already have the tickets, and you have put in the leave."

She hadn't told him, that Schmeil was helping her trace the DiNozzo family, and she was hoping to find where in Italy, they had departed from. So far, the search had turned up very little, but she remained hopeful.

"Okay," he said softly. "I'm excited for that, you know. Our little Roman Holiday."

"I know," she said. "I am excited too."

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Bonus chapter that was not in the plan, for this fic. But was born out of writer's block. Also, I re-read the last chapter of "To Be By Your Side" and realised there were so plot points I hadn't picked up on, so this sort of marries them all together.

Thanks for all the lovely reviews, faves, follows, and PMs.


	8. Reassurances

Her thermostat rested at its usual high temperature, but the feeling in the room was cold. She slipped back into her apartment, keys jangling in her hand, having seen her friend out into the cold. He dunked the plate into the warm soapy dishwater, not caring that it splashed him. Soaking his overpriced shirt.

"That went well," he said, as she stood next to him, and took the tea towel into her hand, rather violently. Tension brewed, and fermented.

"Did it?" she asked, raising her eyebrow to her hairline.

Things had not gone well.

The dinner had been an attempt to marry her old life to her new. She had invited her friend Jessica, who was in a couple of her classes, to meet Tony. She had opted to cook, as Jessica did not have the money for a restaurant, and she liked to cook. Jessica had enjoyed the spicy shakshuka Ziva had made. Jessica had brought a decedent desert, which Tony had devoured.

"No," he said with gulp. "Not really, no."

"Did you really feel the need to interrogate my friend?" she asked, trying to keep her voice at a reasonable level. It was late, and her neighbours were too nice, to become an audience to what might become a nasty fight.

"I didn't interrogate her," Tony said, trying to keep his voice low.

"I have seen you interrogate people," she shouted, being the first to turn this from a tense discussion to a full-blown fight. "I knew what your were doing."

"Well," he shouted. "Were you gonna tell me your new friend was a jail bird."

Tony had latched onto Jessica, when she revealed that she had being in prison for fifteen months, about a decade before hand. Ziva had watched as slipped into work mode.

"Why?" she shouted. "So, you could judge her before you met her?"

"So, I could not make an idiot of myself," he said.

He had certainly done that.

"So, you admit you interrogated her," Ziva replied.

"I was curious," he said, softening his voice. "It's not everyday, you meet someone who has been to jail."

"You do," she said, snarkily.

"You know what I mean," he replied. It was not everyday, you meet someone who had been to prison as a friend. A stint in the big house, was not something people advertised.

"She has been out of prison for eight years," Ziva said, softening her tone. "She should not be judged by what she did at nineteen."

He wondered how much of that was about Jessica, and how much was about Ziva.

"Did you know?" he asked.

If she hadn't known, she had certainly pulled her best Mossad poker face, when Jessica's past was revealed.

"Jessica told me a few weeks ago," Ziva said.

It had been after their Psychology class, where the Zimbardo prison experiments had come up in conversation. Ziva found herself squirming in her seat, as they watched footage of men humiliating others, she hadn't needed the class to teach her the ways of the world. Ziva had also watched as Jessica, usually a strong contributor to the classroom discussions, became quieter and more withdrawn.

Ziva had insisted they get some coffee, before Jessica left, and as they sat in Ziva's car, Jessica had mentioned her time in prison. She had been nineteen, and caught with drugs three times in six months. She was sober now, and was trying to build up her life back up. She wanted to help other women, when they came out of prison, and prevent recidivism.

"And you didn't think to mention it to me?" he asked.

"It was not my story to tell," she said softly.

"Did she know you used to be cop?" he asked.

"I was never a cop," Ziva replied.

"What do you tell people, when they asked what you did before?" he asked.

"I tell them I investigated crimes," she replied.

"That's what a cop does," he interrupted.

"So much of what I did was outside the law," Ziva said softly, letting a breath out with a hiss. "There is so much I have done, that should have landed me in prison or worse."

She was more than what she had done to survive.

"Don't say that," he said. "We're the good guys."

"It is true," she whispered, looking down at her feet. "Just because my actions were ordered by a government, or because someone high up looked the other way, does not change the nature of them."

"Is that why you and Jessica are friends?" he asked. "Because you think you're on the same level."

She looked up at him, eyes crinkled. He was way off base.

"We were friends, before she told me about her past," Ziva told him. "She likes the same music, and we always seemed to end up paired up for class discussions. She is a good person."

 _I am good person_ , she was trying to say. And, if somebody was going to rank her and Jessica. Jessica would come out on top, because as far as Ziva knew, Jessica never killed anyone.

"I know," he said softly.

"I told her about Somalia," Ziva whispered. "Not everything, but some of it."

His jaw slacked, and his mouth opened. Somalia was a closely guarded secret, only those who had been in her life at time, knew about it. Delilah and Ellie, probably knew about it through their jobs, and the rumour mill. Breena was blissfully unaware. Most of the scars from those three months were easily hidden. Friends from her classes, and translating work had no inkling.

"I did not intend too," she whispered, "it just came out. We were talking about the Zimbardo prison experiment, you know from the seventies."

His Intro to Psychology class might have been over two decade ago, but the name rang a bell.

"And I mentioned that I had been held captive," she whispered. "I did not tell her everything, but I told her some things. She asked if that was why I left NCIS. It was good to tell someone. Obviously, I do not want to broadcast my past, but it felt good to talk about it. I do not want to burden her either."

What a sight, they must have looked, they had decided. Two women sitting in a car, coffee and breath fogging up the windows, spilling secrets. Eyes glassy. How both women, wished their secrets only involved bad hook-ups, and wardrobe malfunctions.

"That's good," he said, dishwater soaked hand reaching for hers, and squeezing it. "I don't think she thought of it as a burden."

"Jessica wants to do good," Ziva whispered. She wanted to do good, too. "She is more than her past."

 _I am more than just my past_ , she saying.

"I know," he whispered. "I didn't realise women's prisons were such a mess."

Once Jessica had revealed her past to Tony, she had started a spiel about the myriad of issues facing female inmates including; medical care, lecherous guards, and separation from children. She was hoping to help make the world a better place, for female inmates, and especially upon release.

"You didn't?" she asked, poking her head up. He might be less inclined than her to read a newspaper, but surely he knew something.

"I think, I kinda chose not to think about it too much," he admitted, swallowing thickly. "I've been a cop for over twenty years."

"I know," she whispered.

"I've seen it all," he said. The horrors of the job, played like a bad movie montage in his head "I've seen kids sitting in their own filth because their parents are too strung out. I've seen people murdered over a few grams."

She moved closer to him, closing the distance, and trying to banish the bad, bad world. He had seen too much.

"And, when you've seen all of that," he continued. "You have to believe that when the bad guys get caught, and that they do their time. You can't think about how much they suffer in the big house. You can't think about how their are rich kids who do far worse, end up with shorter sentences. You can't think about that. Otherwise, you wonder if you're doing more harm than good."

"I know," she whispered.

"Do you think you would have been friends with Jessica if you still worked for NCIS?" he asked.

He was being so honest with her, unearthing parts of him, that were not his proudest. She owed him the same honesty in return.

"I do not know," she admitted. "I am not sure, we would have ever met. The job did not leave much time for making new friends."

"No," he said. "It doesn't."

"Even if I had met Jessica before, I probably would not have become friends with her," she finally said. "But, I am glad I have met her, she is very funny. She is a good person."

"Yeah," he said. Remembering the joke Jessica had made about the TA for the statistics class, she and Ziva were taking. Apparently the man had quite the taste in winter sweaters, and made very bad jokes.

"I'm sorry, I kinda interrogated her," he whispered.

"I think you should apologize to her," she replied. "I would like you too apologize to her."

"Yeah, I should," he admitted, voice solemn. "Did you invite her to Purim?"

Ziva's Purim party, was in a week. So far, they had full attendance from all of her friends from her old life. Delilah was keen to show off her new wheels. Abby was excited to dress up. Ellie said she would see about bringing her husband. None of them had met Mr Ellie yet.

"Yes," she said. "She seemed very excited. I also invited Rachel and her partner."

"They're from your synagogue right?" he asked.

"Rachael is," Ziva said. "Her partner is not Jewish, I have not met her partner."

Ziva knew very little about Rachel's partner. She had seen an Indian woman pick Rachel up from services a couple of times, but had not asked if that was her partner.

"I'll be on my best behaviour, when I meet them," he promised, hoping the Purim party would go better than the dinner. "Promise."

He flashed his thousand-watt grin.

"I am sorry, I sprung Jessica on you," she said, softly. "Maybe, I should have mentioned that she did not have a conventional past."

"I shouldn't have overreacted," he said softly. He held his breath for a second, trying to hold the thoughts that were swimming inside of him. "It's just so much is changing. So much has changed."

She was changing. They were changing. Were they evolving in the same direction?

"I know, I have asked a lot of you, in these past few months," she whispered. "Too much perhaps."

"You've been so much happier," he told her. "It's good to see you so happy. It makes me happy to see you happy"

So peaceful. She was so peaceful. She deserved to be this happy.

"There is something you are not saying," she murmured as she brought her hands to his face. Was he not happy?

"It's just," he paused, then gulped. "What if you decide, I don't fit in to this new life of yours?"

"I do not think that will happen," she whispered.

"Hear me out," he whispered. "What if you get sick of this old man, you've hitched your wagon too? You're changing, and I'm not. You're going to take on the world, and I'm asking you to settle down. I'm looking at winding it down."

"Winding it down?" she asked.

"I don't want to still be chasing bad guys with Gibbs', when we have kids," he replied. "I'd want one of those boring desk jobs, which means I'd be home by six, so we can tag team bath time."

How easily he conjured up their future. She hoped they could breathe reality into his dreams.

"We have a little while," she whispered. She had told him, she had wanted to be done with classes before they started making babies. It seemed he wanted her barefoot and pregnant now. She wanted that degree. Nobody could take that degree away from her.

"I don't want to rush you," he muttered. "I also don't want to miss the boat."

"You are not," she said softly. "You are not going to miss the boat."

"I feel like going through the motions," he continued. She watched with her mouth slightly ajar. So much had been going on in his head. So much, he was not sharing. "Like I'm not really going anywhere."

How long had he been sitting with these thoughts, she wondered.

"Yes you are," Ziva told him. "You have a five year plan, and you are making changes to fulfil that plan. You are letting others in. Maybe, things aren't changing on the outside, but they are on the inside. You are doing well."

Could she have ever imagined, the goofy playboy of a partner she was partnered with all those years ago, would turn into the man she wanted to share her life with? He was softer now. More caring. She hoped he was happier too.

"I hope so," he whispered.

They were both doing well. Letting go of the past. Moving forward, together.

"I know so," she replied. They were going to be okay.

"So, you not going to run off with your stats TA?" he asked.

She gave him a throaty laugh. He smiled for just a second.

"Definitely not," she promised, as she patted his stomach. "You have much better taste in sweaters."

He laughed. A lion's roar of a laugh. She smiled, a full moon of a smile.

"You should talk to me about these things," she whispered, as the laughter trailed off. "You have to let me in."

She kicked herself for not noticing earlier. She had been so self-absorbed in recent months.

"I figured, only one us can be a hot mess at a time," he said, as she pulled him into a hug. "Not that you were ever that much of a mess."

She smiled.

"Well, I think you have earned your turn," she whispered, as she looked up at him. "Please Motek, don't keep secrets."

Motek, how he melted everytime she called him that.

"I didn't mean too," he admitted. "It's all be going on under the surface. Bubbling away."

"I know," she said softly. "These things tend to happen like that."

It hadn't been to long since, it had all come up to the surface for her.

"I'm starting to understand," he said.

"Understand, what?" she asked.

"How you could give up the badge," he declared.

"I thought you understood why I had to do that," she said, trying not to raise her voice.

"I did on a logical level, and I remember how tormented you were," he said softly. "But now, I get it. I really get it. On a personal level."

She let out a heavy breath. Worry knotted in her stomach.

"Do you want to stop being a NCIS agent?" she asked. Her stomach tight.

"I don't know," he whispered, his eyes heavy. "I really don't know, and that scares me. It scares me a hell of a lot."

"It's okay," she said, "I will be okay."

"I think that's why I've been thinking about kids, a lot lately," he admitted. "That way the decision would be made. I'd give it all up for a kid. People would get that."

People wouldn't get him running away from the fire. How could he leave the others to stand and fight?

"I am tracking well for my degree," she murmured. "Like I said last week, I could be done in two and half years."

"You shouldn't have to rush, because I'm having a crisis of faith," he said.

Was this another symptom of his endless midlife crisis?

"We can look at other things," she whispered. "It would be good for you to be settled in your career, before we start having children."

"Yeah," he said. "You're probably right. You're always right."

She offered him a smile, and a hand squeeze. Assurances.

"Have you given it much thought?" she asked.

"I know I don't want to go back to school, I'm way too old for that," he said. "I'd want to stay in Law Enforcement. I was thinking maybe recruitment or training. Make sure the next generation, are the best we've got."

Years ago, he saw the new agents as competition, now he wanted to mould them, to let them learn from his mistakes. Oh, how he had grown.

"Yes," she said, with a smile. "I think you would quite enjoy training new agents."

"I've been a cop for two decades," he said, voice quieting. Doubt creeping in. "What if can't do anything else?"

"I think you will do great," she said. "You are more than the badge."

But, what if he wasn't. He wasn't like her. He wasn't adaptable. What if he was just some old grump?

She pulled him closer, until his head rested on her chest. His knees were bent and his back ached, but he didn't care.

"I got your back," she whispered, as her hand rubbed circles onto his back. "I will always have your back."

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing. Thanks for all the reviews, and love.

Not the direction, I intended on this taking so early on, but the ol' muse had other ideas. As you've probably noticed, I tend to leave things to stew, before picking them up a few chapters later. The plan for the next chapter is the Purim party.

Also, there probably won't be a chapter next week. I'm travelling for Christmas. Hopefully, they'll be one before the new year. I'm also in the process of moving countries, so I'm a little strapped for writing time.

Also, in shameless self-promotion. I wrote a blog post about all the books Ziva read or referenced during her time on the show. If you google "Alice Reads Books" wordpress, it should come up. If that tickles your fancy.

Happy holidays, whether it's Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus, or something else, hopefully it is happy and joyful.


	9. Purim

The apartment was a mess. The table was pushed up against the wall, with food debris littering it, and empty cups were lined up on her kitchen counter. Still, neither occupants of the now-quiet apartment made an effort to move. Instead they stood in the centre of the floor, surveying the mess. His arms were wrapped around her waist. Her hair tickled his nose.

"That went well," he said softly, as she moved slightly, getting closer"I didn't insult any of your friends this time."

She turned slightly, to look at him, a smile on her face. Maybe, it was the alcohol. The wine had been poured so freely, as the Purim party raged into the March night.

"Jessica said you apologised," she whispered, "Thank you for that."

"It was the right thing to do," he replied, as he pulled her a tiny bit closer. He still felt bad for how he treated Jessica. "I wanted to do it."

For Purim, she had gone for a more traditional costume; dressing up as Queen Esther. Dressing in a flowy dress, and a cheap crown. She could almost hear the sort of squealing noise, her mother used to make when she was happy. Rivka David, always wanted to see her eldest daughter in a dress. Tony, had put on his best suit and declared himself James Bond, to absolutely nobody's surprise.

"I vote, we leave the cleaning up, until tomorrow," he whispered, as he flicked her hair out the way and moved to place a kiss on her neck. Nothing would lead to a particularly gross situation. It could wait.

"Maybe," she whispered. She was tired. It had been a long week, and preparing for the party had been an effort. But this was a good tired. She had enjoyed the party. She had hung out with old friends and new.

"So, we've been invited to a Passover Seder?" he asked, as he twisted as loose curl in her finger.

The only other Jewish guest at her Purim party, had been Rachael her friend from Synagoge. Rachel had brought her non-Jewish partner, Jyotica a second-generation Indian-American, who was doing a PhD in microbiology. Tony and Jyotica, who went by Jo, had gotten on well, both following the same college basketball teams. It seemed that they were on track to making couple friends.

"Would you like to go?" she asked, trying to recall the last time she had actually sat down for a seder. Had it really been before, they lost Tali, with her Aunt Nettie scolding them for being late. She could still hear Tali's voice as she asked the four questions.

"I already said yes," he said.

"Have you ever been to a Seder?" she asked. "They can be very long."

She doubted that a Seder hosted by two women, one of which was not Jewish, would be a traditional fare. Perhaps it would be a good way to introduce Tony to it all.

"I want to go," he assured her, his voice soft, and reassuring. "It's important to you, so it's important to me."

"Okay," she said softly.

A thousand tiny moments played in her head, from Passovers past, she wanted to tell him all of them. Aunt Nettie's crazed cleaning. Her mother's cooking. Presenting Schmeil with the Afikomen she found.

"I want to be a part of this part of your life," he continued. Wine had loosened his lips.

"For when we have children, yes?" she said.

How quickly children, had gone from an if, to a when. It could only ever be with him.

"Yeah," he admitted. "But, not just for that. It matters to you, so it matters to me."

"Okay," she said with a soft smile. "I would like to share it with you. It has been a long time since, I went to a Seder."

He nodded. They continued to chat. Amira, had visited briefly, dressed in a costume, which was the Disney Princess of the moment, had looked adorable. The kid, has also left with more candy, than she could ever eat, much to Leyla's disdain. Delilah, was looking well, showing off her new wheelchair. Though, both questioned what would happen with Delilah and Tim, if Delilah got the secondment in Dubai. It was such a shame, that Ellie and her husband had not been able to come, Ziva had been looking forward to meeting her.

"I bet Palmer's having a tough night," he murmured.

"Why?" she asked.

"Breena was drinking like a sorority girl on Spring Break," he said. "What goes down must come up."

For a second she was confused she thought, the idiom was the other way around. Then she got it. Breena had looked a bit green, as Palmer ferried her out the door. Tony had placed a bottle of water in her hand, as she descended into the drunk babble, and pestered Jimmy for McDonalds.

"She was very chatty," Ziva whispered.

The party guests, had broken off into little groups. Jessica had slipped out, off to her second job, as she did not have the benefit of a dead father's' blood money. Rachael and Jo, had not stayed long either, as they had been invited to multiple Purim parties. The team, and Delilah, had started talking about work, whereas Breena had cornered Ziva.

"Really," he said, dragging to word out, so it sounded like a horses neigh. "Any juicy gossip?"

Some things never change, she thought to herself. How many times, had she seen Tony trying to get gossip, on Gibbs or Ducky. It seemed his interests had broadened.

"She wanted to know, how I was doing with my classes," Ziva said. She refused to call it school, like her friends did. School was for children. "She wanted to know how I managed work and study."

"I thought she already had a degree," he murmured.

Neither of them knew very much about Breena, but she had mentioned going to college in Florida. A state school, with a binge drinking culture, and a mediocre football team.

"She wants to do her Masters," Ziva revealed. "There is something called a natural death movement, she wants to study that. She asked lots of questions about Jewish death rituals."

He frowned. Ziva was too familiar with funerals.

"Now, thats a party conversation," he muttered sarcastically.

She let out a laugh. It was slow at first, bubbling in her mouth, then exploding like a volcano. He laughed too.

"She told me it was nice to have another wife in the group," Ziva said, as the laughter faded away.

"You're not a wife," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Yet."

The yet hung in the air. How certain he was of their future. Maybe, it was because they had spent so long messing around. Perhaps, if it was anyone else, she would have run away.

"I am aware of your five year plan," she said, as she knotted her fingers in his, low on her waist, like an airplane seatbelt. "Breena is just glad to have someone else to talk to, when the team gets together."

"We talk to Breena," he said, trying not to get defensive.

"Yes," she said. "But she felt left out, when we used to talk about cases."

"We don't do that," he said. "Not that much."

"You do," she replied.

"You never mentioned this before," he said softly. There had been a handful of team dinners and get togethers since, she gave up the badge. She had listened as they talked about work, and sometimes shared memories, but never tried to move the conversation along.

"I did not notice it before," she mused. "Not so much anyway. But now, I have been gone for so long."

He nodded. He still missed her on the field. What a team they'd made.

"Do you miss it?" he asked.

"Sort of," she admitted. Her voice heavy. "In the same way I miss Israel, but could not imagine living there again."

He nodded. The past was a foreign country.

"We should talk less about work," he said. "Be more inclusive."

"It's fine," she said. "I understand, more than Breena does."

"Still," he countered. "We should probably have lighter conversations, not that I really wanna hear about the McCouples cosplay."

She frowned for a second.

"It is good that they share interests," she declared. Shared interests, he wondered sometimes if that was why he tended to date other people in law enforcement.

"Is that why Breena was drinking so much?" he asked, "To put up with us talking about work."

Ziva shook her head. Curls spilled out.

"She has other reasons to drink," she murmured. Didn't they all.

His ears perked up.

"Are Ricky and Lucy, turning into Married With Children?" he asked.

"I do not understand what you just said," she replied.

He added two more television shows to the never ending _To Show Ziva_ list, he had in his head. The McCouple's shared interest, was all things geek, theirs was American pop culture. Namely educating Ziva on the finer points.

"Are the Palmerino's on the rocks?" he asked. His tone had slipped from his gosspy tone, to one of true concern. Both of them had seen too many failed relationships. They did not want that for their friends.

"No," Ziva said, blinking a few times. Breena had not indicated that. "Breena was just a little sad."

"So, she got drunk?" he asked.

"A fairly common coping mechanism, no?" she replied. One they had both indulged in, a different times.

"True," he whispered. "What did Jimmy do to her?"

"Why would Jimmy have to do something to make her sad?" Ziva replied.

"Isn't that how marriage works," he said, with a smirk.

"And, you wish to be married," she replied.

"We'll be different," he assured her.

She hoped so. She had read somewhere the people often subconsciously repeated their parents marriages, how she hoped that would not happen to them.

"I am not sure, if I should tell you, why Breena is sad," she admitted.

Ziva had never been good at female friendship. She craved the intimacy, and the secret sharing but it always eluded her. Of the few female friends, she now kept, most had been met through work. Female friends of days past, were also bonded through bullets and bloodshed. Even now, she struggled with her new friend Jessica, who had cooled their friendship since that dinner.

"Girl code, I get it," he said, his tone breezy.

"You get it?" she asked.

"She saw you to secrecy or whatever," he said. "It's just old autopsy gremlin has been down in the dumps too."

She swallowed thickly, not surprised that Jimmy had been so down.

"Breena was sad because their fertility treatment did not work," Ziva said quickly. Her throat aching as the words came out. Guilt stewed in her stomach, maybe she should not have spilled that secret.

"Oh," he breathed.

"You cannot tell Jimmy that you know," she said. "I should not have told you."

"Poor guy probably wants someone to talk to," he muttered. "I suppose he's got Duckman."

Tony's words surprised her. She expected a jab about bad swimmers, or science fiction babies, instead she heard genuine concern for his friend.

"Breena said he has told noone," she whispered. "IUI does not have a very high success rate, but they got their hopes up. Breena really wanted to try getting pregnant. Jimmy is ready to look at other options."

"I guess that explains all the adoption stuff," he said. "How do you know so much about fertility treatments?"

"I looked it up once," she admitted, eyes darted to the floor.

She could still remember, sitting in her apartment in the days between Christmas and New Years, trying to ignore the pain, from her Christmas Eve fight. She had studied the statistics and outcomes, with the same enthusiasm as her citizenship test. She had read dozens of testimonials of women who had multiple rounds of IVF, and end up with their little miracle, as well as essays written by women who had found a happy ending without children.

"When?" he asked.

"When I was still with Ray," she said. "Just after Gibbs' delivered that Marine's baby. She let me hold the baby, and I knew then that I wanted to have children. Before then it was just a maybe. I looked up a few things, I wanted to know what my options were."

Tony frowned, a few weeks after all of that Ray had resurfaced and broken her heart. In those few days, he had planted visions of white weddings and chubby toddlers. The universe had such cruel timing sometimes.

"I should talk to Jimmy," Tony said softly. "Let him know he's got someone in his corner."

"Then he will know, that I cannot keep my mouth shut," Ziva uttered. "Breena swore me to secrecy. And, Jimmy would not want his business broadcast."

"He needs a friend," Tony said. "I'd want a friend, if I was going through something like that."

"I'm proud of you," she murmured after a few seconds.

"For what?" he asked. His voice cracking. He could not remember the last time, someone had said those words to him.

"Everything," she said. "So much has changed. You are changing."

"You're changing, I'm changing," he whispered, repeating what had become their mantra in recent months. "We're changing together."

"Yes," she said, as she turned around, so was in front of him. Their eyes met. A matching smile crossed their faces. The cleaning up could definitely wait.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Thanks for all the love, and reviews.

As this is an AU, I played around with the side storylines, in this fic Breena and Palmer never got to the almost adoption or whatever was cannon. I like the idea of Tony trying to be a good friend, rather than the gossip fiend he was in earlier seasons. I'm debating whether to write a Jimmy and Tony chapter. This fic does seem to be developing into Tony's story, with all of the Giblets 'growing up' in their own way.

Apologies, for the delay. Life is busy. And, the ol' muse got sidetracked.


	10. Men Who Talk in Autospy Suites

The moment Jimmy caught sight of Tony, on the crisp March monday morning. He knew, that Tony knew. The autopsy suite, was quiet, Ducky was still away, having caught a nasty chest infection as the winter started to slip into spring. It seemed that this year, the good doctor had really started to feel his age. All of the recent guests had been taken to their final resting places, and Palmer was hoping to catch up on paperwork.

Tony presented Jimmy with a cup of coffee. Jimmy took it, slowly. Tony stood in front of him, taking sips from his own cup, in a very Gibbs-like manner.

"What's up Jimmy?" Tony asked. His voice jovial. His thousand what grin on display. "How's Breena doing after the other night?"

Breena had nursed, a hell of a hangover, and the two of them had talked as they snuggled that afternoon. Breena wanted to try, just one more time. This one more time, was dangerous, and Jimmy wondered how many 'one more times' there would be, and how far they would go. He had read stories of couples who remortaged their houses, to fund round after round of treatment.

Jimmy looked around the room, as if he was crossing the street. There was no-one else lingering. People in this building did like gossip, especially those without a security clearance.

"She said, she hadn't got drunk like that since college," Jimmy reported, it had only been twenty-four hours since he'd held her hair back as she threw up. "She wanted me to apologize, if she said or did anything crazy."

"She didn't," Tony said, with a smile. Breena had given them a sloppy hug, that rivaled Abby's, but that was about how out of the ordinary, she had gotten.

"Good," Jimmy said, looking down at the paperwork.

"So, your wife, told my girlfriend, about what you two have been going through," Tony said, very quickly. "I just came to say, I'm here for you, and that Ziva feels really bad for telling me."

Jimmy looked up at Tony, and tried to disguise his surprise. No cruel jokes, had been hurled his way.

"Tell Ziva, not to feel bad," Jimmy said, trying to keep his tone neutral. "I'm sure you were very persuasive, in getting it out of her."

Tony let out a nervous chuckle. Jimmy comment skirted a line, in a way only Jimmy Palmer could.

"I haven't told anyone," Tony said honestly. "Not even McGoo."

"Why?" Jimmy asked. "It's prime gossip. I'm surprised it's not all over the Navy Yard by now."

"Gossip is supposed to be fun," Tony said. "Who's getting it on', or changing jobs. This is serious, you don't gossip about that."

"What's not fun about the fact that Jimmy Palmer can't knock his wife up," Jimmy asked, his voice rising as bitterness seeped in. "It's a hell of a story."

"Are you sure it's your fault?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Jimmy said with a sigh. "Breena really wanted to start a family, and I thought we were in a good enough place, financially and all. I mean people do it with less right?"

Jimmy parents had certainly done it with less, and far younger too.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Suppose so."

"Breena came off the pill a couple of months after the wedding," Jimmy continued, filling Tony in on the last year, "I thought we were just being less careful, but she was all-in. After a couple of months we were scheduling couple time and taking temperatures."

"Temperatures?" Tony asked.

"Ovulation leads to a change in temperature," Jimmy said matter of factly. "Anyway, I guess Breena must have told her Dad, or rather she told her Stepmom that it wasn't working, and her Stepmom told her Dad. Ed offered to pay for fertility tests."

Tony had only met Ed, Breena's father, very briefly a few christmases ago. He had thought that Ed was a piece of work, and now he was a little weirded out by how close Breena and Ed still were. He very much suspected that Breena would like a bit more distance, but Ed held her too close.

"Well, the traditional gift for your first anniversary is paper," Jimmy declared. "I gave Breena a piece of paper saying that my guys were slow, and there wasn't as many of them as there should be."

"How'd she take that?" Tony asked.

"Honestly," Jimmy said with a sigh. "I think she was relieved it wasn't her fault. If she had married a guy, with good sperm, she'd probably have gotten knocked up by the second month."

Breena had assured him that he was the only one, she wanted to raise a family with, but it still cut away at him. Why would she want to be with a man, who couldn't even get her pregnant?

"Oh man," Tony said.

"I thought adoption was the answer," Jimmy said, as he shuffled on his feet. "I thought that what mattered in the end, was that we had a kid. There are so many kids out there, who need a loving home."

"Yeah," Tony muttered.

"Breena wanted to try getting pregnant," Jimmy continued. "She said, that she didn't want to regret not trying."

Jimmy put his head in his hands. He felt so defeated.

"She wanted to experience pregnancy, and said I was trying to take that away from her, because I had slow sperm," Jimmy's voice slipped in a low tone, as sadness crept in. The fights about the fertility treatment had been the worst Jimmy and Breena had ever had. "She said I didn't get it. I guess I didn't really think about what she wanted. I think she was just really upset. I mean you think life's going to work out one way, and then there you are travelling on the same road, but in different lane."

"Yeah," came Tony's response.

"We keep trying," Jimmy whispered. "And nothing happens. She gets all excited, and then we end up empty handed. I feel so useless. There's no way for me to make this better."

Tony sat down in front of his friend.

"You're not useless Jimmy," he said softly.

"Tell that to Ed," Jimmy whispered. "He's helping us pay for all of this. I hate being in his back pocket you know. Sometimes, it's like he's this third person in the marriage."

A dark thought crossed Tony's mind, he was glad that his Dad was less meddlesome, and that Ziva's Dad was in the ground. They would screw up their relationship all by themselves.

"He's never thought I was good enough for her," Jimmy continued ranting. "I guess this just proves it. He keeps sending Breena links to websites about sperm donation."

"I'm sure he's just trying to keep all the doors open," Tony said, giving Ed the benefit of the doubt, even though it felt so wrong.

"Or he just wants a grandkid that's nothing to do with me," Jimmy said. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Tell Ed, to shove it," Tony muttered, just loud enough for Jimmy to hear.

"I can't do that," Jimmy replied. "But I want to."

"Have you talked to Breena about this?" Tony asked.

They had talked at each other about this, both coming at it from different angles, like boxers in a ring. Jimmy wanted to look at adoption, he had framed it as helping a kid who might not have the best start. Breena wanted a baby, she wanted to get pregnant, or at least try. Breena knew that you did not have to be biologically related to a child, to love them, after all her stepmother had loved her without reservation. But, she had found herself staring at pregnant women in the supermarket, with a longing, she had never known before.

"I tried to," Jimmy said. "It's just its hard, Ed's so involved, I mean they say each other everyday at work. Breena and I haven't really been talking much. It's just hard. We just avoid the topic."

"Yeah," Tony said softly. "You shouldn't keep this stuff bottled up."

"Who was I gonna talk to?" Jimmy asked, looking up. His looked so stressed. So lost.

"Me," Tony said. "You could have talked to me. Remember when Gibbs was on his Margarita sabbatical, and the director thought it was a good idea to put me in charge. Remember, how I'd come bitch to you, about how hard it was. It helped me, talking to you."

"That was a lifetime ago," Jimmy said softly. So much had changed since then.

"Bet it was hella awkward having me gripe about the new probie, when you two were rocking the kazbar," Tony said with a laugh.

Jimmy laughed too. It echoed in the autopsy suite.

"Yeah," Jimmy said with a smile. "Don't worry we didn't really talk much. It was all strictly business with her."

Tony let out another laugh. Jimmy let out a half laugh. The ghost of Michelle Lee, lingered for a moment. How they both wished things had gone differently. For everyone involved.

"I'm serious Palmer, you could have come to me," Tony said. "Serious as a heart attack."

"I didn't think you'd get it," Jimmy admitted. "When you and Ziva decide to make babies, you'll probably only need one time to hit a homerun."

Tony swallowed thickly. He didn't want to share that it might be hard for him and Ziva. It didn't seem appropriate to bring up their issues, especially since Ziva was still so private about that summer, and its after effects. Besides, little DiNozzo's were a couple of years away.

"That's a little while away," Tony said.

"But it's in the plan right?" Jimmy asked. "Breena said Ziva told her, that you have a five year plan."

It seemed the girl talk had been mutual. Tony was glad. Ziva needed someone to spill secrets with.

"Yeah," Tony said with a smile. "Ziva and I, would quite like to have a couple of rugrats running around in a few years."

"Kids," Jimmy said softly. "As in plural."

He and Breena were just trying to make one, how could Tony already be thinking about multiple kids.

"I always wanted a sibling," Tony said, his voice drifting out to sea, as memories flooded in, "But we'll see how badly we screw up the first one, before we go for a sequel."

"I hope it happens for you two," Jimmy said softly. "One day."

Those two deserved all the happiness, he and Breena had agreed, when they found out that Tony and Ziva were finally together. Gossiping about Tony and Ziva, had been a nice distraction, after it became apparent, that any Palmer babies would not be made in the traditional way.

"It needs to happen for you and Breena first," Tony said with a nod. "I'm gonna need someone who is a little more ahead in the game, to help me along. Because I'm going to screw it up, big time."

Jimmy smiled. Tony painted a nice picture.

"I hope it happens like that," Jimmy said.

"You and Breena, need a vacation," Tony announced. "Some time out."

"The treatments, and medical school don't exactly leave much in the savings account," Jimmy said. "Both of us still have a lot of student loan to pay back, and lets not talk about the credit cards."

Tony pulled out his phone, and tapped on the screen.

"I just sent you a reservation for this little bed and breakfast on the coast," Tony said, looking up from his phone. "For the last weekend March. Ziva and I were gonna go as like a sort of grown-up Spring Break, before she gets to busy with finals. It's all yours now."

"I can't take this from you," Jimmy said.

"I'm giving it you," Tony replied, wearing a smile. "You two crazy kids, need to go have some fun in the sun. I mean it's hardly skinny dipping season, but take some time. Enjoy."

"I'll pay you back," Jimmy said. He moved closer to the drawer where he stored his wallet.

"You'll say thank you, and enjoy the hell out of the weekend," Tony assured his friend.

"What about you and Ziva, what about your vacation?" Jimmy asked.

"We'll work it out," Tony said. "They'll be other vacations."

He'd seen a good deal for a hotel room in New York, maybe they could hop on the train. Ziva did like New York.

"I can't," Jimmy continued.

"Call it late wedding present," Tony said, still smiling.

"We got married nearly two years ago," Jimmy declared. That seemed so very far away. So long ago. What had happened to their newlywed bliss?

"Better late than never," Tony said with a smile. Tony's phone buzzed again, probably McGee or Ellie wondering where he'd disappeared to, when there was paperwork to be done. "I'll even let you tell Breena that you organised it all. You can say its under my name, because you wanted to keep it a surprise. I'll make sure Ziva knows the plan, so she doesn't spill the beans."

Tony made a move toward the door, after throwing his empty coffee cup in the bin. Those old college ball skills came in handy.

"I gotta go," Tony said. "McPaperwork needs my signature. He can't do anything without me holding his hand."

"Tony," Jimmy said.

"Don't worry," Tony said, flashing his grin. "I won't tell anyone. Secrets safe."

"I was going to say thank you," Jimmy declared, as Tony stood in front of the door.

"No problem Jimmy, anytime," he said, as he slipped through the door with a swish.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

I honestly, didn't think that this chapter would come to fruition, but alas the stars in the universe aligned.

The argument that Jimmy recounts, is not trying to paint Breena in a bad light. It's like Jimmy says, when you expect life to go in one direction and it doesn't, sometimes that hurts. Often, there is a grieving process, or a want to try and do everything to try and get that thing you want in the way you want it. Also, not trying to imply that all people only want biological children. Hell, some of us, don't even want to be parents. Seeing, as the show went down the biological kid route, I thought it'd be nice to explore that, especially, since Palmer was so gungho on adoption.

Also, it's really hard to write Jimmy.

We will be returning to our usual T/Z programming, next chapter.

Thanks for reading and reviewing.


	11. Late Night Talks

Tony leaned his head on the window of the car, as they sped through the streets. It was just after midnight, and traffic was calm for a Saturday night.

"I am glad Abby's birthday parties, have become more less vild," Ziva said, as she drove slightly above the speed limit.

"Yeah," Tony said with a smile. The half a dozen beers he'd had, giving him a little buzz. "Forty was definitely less crazy than thirty. You should be very glad you weren't there for thirty, I don't think I sat down properly for a week."

Ziva smiled a cheeky smile, then raised her eyebrows, as her imagination ran wild. He watched her through the rearview mirror.

"I'll tell you the story," he said, Abby's parties were always crazy. "One day. When you've had more to drink."

They had flipped a coin, to see who would drink at Abby's party. Ziva had lost the coin toss, and was the sober driver.

"I spoke to Breena," Ziva said, as Tony watched the almost empty streets whiz by. It had rained earlier, so the tires made a noise on the wet tar. "She wanted to thank us, for gifting them our reservation. I thought we were pretending that Jimmy booked it under your name, to hide the surprise."

"I knew Palmer, would spill the beans," Tony murmured. "I hope they enjoy it."

"Breena promised me they would," Ziva said. "They are going to do one last treatment in April, if that doesn't work they are going to look into adoption again, maybe from the foster system. There are lots of children in need, in the foster system."

"Good," he said softly, slipping deeper into the seat. Alcohol affected him so much more, the older he got. "Good."

He knew most of what Ziva told him, as he and Jimmy had talked more in the past couple of weeks. Jimmy seemed lighter.

"I also had a chance to speak to Ellie," Ziva continued. "Properly this time."

She had met Ellie briefly in passing, when she had picked Tony up from work, and during the winter holiday season, but they had not spoken more than a few words. She liked Ellie, well enough, and hoped she had settled in well to the team.

"She's cool isn't she," he said with a smile. "Though between her and McGenius, the bullpen is swimming in nerd speak. Bossman and I, can't keep up."

Ziva smiled. Those pumpkin walls seemed to distant now.

"I like her," Ziva declared. "She asked me lots of questions about Falafel and Israeli cuisine."

"Yeah," he said, with a lazy yawn. "She likes her food. She does this weird food association thing."

"Maybe, we could have them over for dinner," Ziva said, as she took a sharp right turn, and Tony gripped onto the door. "Her and her husband."

"Maybe," he said, not really wanting to commit. "Or we could go out."

"Maybe," she said. "Her husband seems very quiet. Nice though."

Jake had kept to the corner of Abby's party. Perhaps he was freaked out by some of Abby's more alternate guests, or maybe by the stories he had heard from Gibbs.

"Ellie asked me, how we do it, the other day," Tony said.

The conversation, had taken place in the car on the way back to base, after a particularly gory crime scene. Ellie was flicking through the photos from the Purim party, which she had missed. A sad look had crossed her face, and the secrets had spilled out.

"How we do what?" she asked, as made an abrupt stop at a red light. Her driving had improved in recent years, but the jolt was enough to make him hold on tight.

"How we find things to talk about," he said, as he watched the other cars zoom past. "Considering you don't have a security clearance anymore."

"We are never short on conversation," Ziva said, as she placed her hand on his thigh. "Or other ways of communicating."

"No, we're not," he agreed, with a brief smirk. "She said that her and Jake, used to talk about work a lot. Like a lot, a lot. She's not really sure if they have any interests outside of work, and whenever she tries to suggest stuff for them to do together, he vetoes it. That's why they didn't come to Purim, because they'd had a big fight. She asked what we talk about, and if it's different now."

"You told her about us?" Ziva asked, pressing on the gas pedal.

Ziva had always protected her privacy, and was not really sure how she felt about Tony, talking about them, to someone she didn't really know. She liked Ellie, but she also wondered what advice they a couple of all of ten months, could give people who had been married for years.

"Well, McGossip got it into her head that we were together, while you still worked with us," Tony said, trying to lighten the mood. "I had to set the record straight."

"That is not an unusual assumption," Ziva hummed, trying to keep her tone neutral, still unsure if she liked the conversation Tony was recounting. "What did you tell Ellie about us?"

"I told her what we talk about," Tony said, still trying to hold onto the jovial tone. "How I've made it my life's work, to knock Pirates of the Caribbean out of your top five movies."

"I do not think, I even have five favourite movies," Ziva said, with a laugh. Maybe, this was okay, she thought.

"Well, it's definitely my job to expand your film horizons," he said. "Though you liked 8 and ½, you like the Italian classics."

"I did," she said, her tone softening. "We do not only talk about movies."

"No," he said. "I told her how we cook together sometimes, and how we talk about your classes."

"You do not mind that we talk so much about my classes?" she asked, releasing this was a chance to check in. Alcohol had loosened lips. "I know it has been a long time since you were a student."

"No," he said. "It's interesting. If you're interested, I'm interested. Well, except for the statistics stuff."

"I will be glad when that class is over," she said with a smirk.

"Me too," he said, matching her smile.

"Do you miss talking about work with me?" she asked. She remembered all those late nights in the squadroom, eating greasy take out, and bouncing ideas off of each other.

"No," he said honestly. "Even when we worked together, we always found non-work stuff to talk about."

"You always did have an interest in my personal life," she said with a smile. Nostalgia, now tasted more sweet, than bitter. Time healed.

"That interest was mutual," he declared.

"Not equally so," came her reply.

"I like what we do now," he said after a few seconds. "The traveling, the movie nights, and all the other stuff we do. I wouldn't trade that for the world. I want to build this life with you."

"Do you still miss working with me?" she asked, as they got closer and closer to her apartment.

In those early months, after they returned from Israel, he had expressed this often. Sometimes, as he left her in bed, while he went out to fight monsters, it was said with a sigh. Sometimes, it was during a fight, seemingly about something else, that those words were said with anger. Sometimes, it was as the memories flowed, and nostalgia laced their words, that he said it with a smile. He said it less now, maybe the feeling had passed.

"Yeah," he said, darting his eyes out the window. "But this is better. What we have is a good. Do you think it's good?"

"I think it is very good," she said with a smile. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, as he turned to look at her. A smile resting on his face. An all knowing smile, things would have never been this good, if they tried to balance this and their jobs.

"We are nearly home," Ziva said. Technically, it was only her home, but he spent nine nights out of ten there. It felt like his home too. "Are you still hungry?"

When they had slipped out of Abby's party, he had whined that he was hungry, despite having had quite a few of the snacks that were provided. She had patted his stomach, and said it was the beer talking.

"I'll grab something at home," he said. He didn't mean his apartment, he meant hers.

"Okay," Ziva said, glad his stomach had stopped talking, as she had no interest in braving a fast food drive-through in the wee hours.

"With Ellie, it's not like it was with you," he declared, as the turned the corner of Ziva's block.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You know," he said, her mouth suddenly dry. "There was always this sort of flirty tension, I guess. There was always something a spark. It was kinda like that in the past, with other female partners. With you especially, but with Ellie it's like having a little sister on the field."

"You do not have a sister," she said.

"No," Tony said softly. "But it's like having Abby on the field, I like her and wanna keep her safe, but that's it. Plus, she's about as green as McGee was. I miss having a partner who could take the lead."

"I know," Ziva said softly, as the pulled into her parking garage, and slid into her parking spot. "When I was talking to her, she said she felt she had big boots to fill."

"Yeah," he murmured. "Something like that. You left quite a hole."

"Is she not filling them?" Ziva asked.

"She is," Tony said softly. "But you did leave a lasting impression."

"She asked me, if it is true that I once killed a man with a credit card," Ziva muttered.

"I wondered who told her that," he said in an exaggerated voice.

"Do you talk about me to her often?" she asked. She already knew about the conversation about their relationship, but that had context, trying to help Ellie with her marriage. Did Tony, kvetch about her in the squadroom, like men in one of those sitcoms, he was always trying to show her?

"Sometimes," he said. "I mean sometimes, she overhears me telling McGoo what's happening with you. I always tell him to text you himself, I don't want you guys to lose touch."

She wondered if Tim's how are you? texts were a result of those conversations.

"Thank you," she said softly. "It's not that I do not want you to talk about me. It is just things are so new, and-"

"I'm not one of those guys, who whines about his girl to his colleagues," he interrupted. "But you are a part of my life, and I like to talk about you. Tim talks about Delilah all the time, and Jimmy talks about Breena, I talk about you like that. I know it's weird because you used to work with us."

"I know," she said. "You are right, it is an adjustment."

"Yeah," he said.

"What else do you talk to Ellie about?" she asked, as she unclicked her seatbelt.

"She did ask why you left," he said, as he unclicked his seatbelt. Ziva felt a stone in her stomach, how much had been shared? "She thought you left because we got together. I told her it was for personal reasons, and that us getting together had nothing to do with it. I mean the timeline is a bit fuzzy, but correlation does not imply causation."

"Seems like you have learnt something from helping me study for my midterm," Ziva said, as she slipped out of the car.

He smiled at the memory. A lazy Sunday, him half-watching the ball game, and her frantically scribbling notes. He had offered to help, and turned her practice exam into a quiz show. How she'd laughed at his silly voice, and made-up prizes, when she got questions right.

"And they say you can't teach an old dog, new tricks," he uttered, as they met each other again in front of her car. Ziva pressed the fob, and her car locked with the familiar sound. He reached across for her hand, and wrapped it in his. "I just wanted to reassure her, that she doesn't have to live up to your reputation. She's her own agent."

"She did ask me to teach her some Krav Maga," Ziva said, as they stood in front of the elevator. His hand rested on her hips, admiring the black jeans that made her look amazing, but were a pain to get off. "Breena overhead that too, and would also like to learn. I was thinking maybe, in the summer, when my course load it a little bit lighter."

"What would Breena need Krav Maga for?" he asked, as the elevator opened, and swallowed them up. "Zombies?"

She erupted into laughter. Her curls bouncing. She leaned forward, pressing into him.

"I think she just wants to exert some control," Ziva said, as the laughter subsided. "So much is out of her control at the moment."

Tony nodded. How he hoped for good news on the baby Palmer project, however it came to fruition.

"I suppose so," he whispered. "Ellie's already quite the fighter, she has three older brothers."

"Wow," Ziva said.

"Her parents are still together too," he said. "She's so normal."

He took stock of their little group. Ellie was the most normal, two parents still together, and both alive. She'd had, what seemed to be a happy stable childhood. No dead Dad like Delilah, or difficult parental divorce like Breena. Ellie was a paragon of normal. In terms of family life anyway.

"What do you mean?" she asked, as they reached her floor. They walked out of the elevator, hand in hand.

"She doesn't look to Gibbs' like we all did," he said. "I mean she respects him, and looks to him like a mentor. But it's different. There less baggage."

"She doesn't look to him like a father figure," Ziva said quickly. She'd been talking to her therapist about this, a lot. "Like we all did."

Gibbs had been given such a tough mission, one that was mostly unknown to him, to undo all the hurt and pain, that Senior, Eli David, and Admiral McGee had inflicted on their offspring.

"Yeah," he said, as he put his copy of her key, into the door. They were home. It felt good to be home.

"That is good, no?" she asked. Ziva was not sure if she was willing to share her father figure anymore that she already did.

"Well yeah," he said, as they shrugged off their jackets. "Nobody needs our issues. Gibbs definitely has his plate full with all of ours."

"I thought you and your father were doing well," Ziva said. She liked Senior, but she knew that beneath the newly revived father-son relationship, there was a lot of hurt. Not all hurts could be healed.

"We are," he replied, as he bent his knee to take off his shoes. "It doesn't change the past though."

"No," she said blinking quickly.

"Do you wish things had been different?" he asked, as they stood in front of each other, her with one boot on, and one boot off. She was standing on tiptoes to make up for the height difference in the boots. "Do you wish, you'd grown up in one of those normal families?"

All happy families are alike, all unhappy families were unhappy in their own way.

"I suspect Ellie's family has its dysfunctions," she said, as she unzipped her boot. "Remember when we thought Tim had come from one of those happy families."

Since, she had given up the badge, she seldom call McGee by his last name. It sounded so sweet when she called him Tim. Almost like unlocking another level of friendship.

"Yeah," he said.

Once upon a time, they had all be less entangled in each others lives, and from a distance it looked like McGee had been raised in the Navy Brat edition of the picket fence life. It was during that Gibbsless summer, that they learnt otherwise. The younger man had spent weeks in a dark mood, and not revealed why. It had been Ziva who got it out of him, his mother had left his father, for a real estate agent. Apparently, it had been brewing for long time, but his mother had wanted to wait until Sarah graduate high school. Tim, was stewing in guilt because he was glad that his mother had left. McGee had felt unable to talk about it, because his friends seemed to have much worse childhoods. Ziva of course, had assured him that his problems were just as valid, and Tony had gotten the younger man sufficiently intoxicated, patted him on the back and said it would all be okay.

"I think what matters," she said as she led him to the bedroom. "Is how you rebuild, after things have been knocked down."

"Yeah," he said, "You're right."

"I do like Ellie," Ziva said, as she pulled her top off over her head.

"Good," he said, unbuttoning his shirt, his sloppy fingers missing buttons. "It's good."

"Did you think I would not?" she asked.

"No," he said softly. "I thought it might be a bit awkward."

The Ziva of a few years ago, had never done well, with other female agents. There was a jealousy that flared up.

"It is not," she said, as she undid her jeans. They were so tight, that left indents in her flesh. He dropped his pants to the floor. His belt clanged as it hit the ground. "I like her, very much."

"Are you tired?" he asked. He no longer wanted food, but he felt another hunger low in his stomach.

"No," came her reply, very quickly.

She smiled, her teeth sinking into her lip. He smiled too. There would be no more talking. The two of them were after all, very good at other ways of communicating.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

I really do think that Ziva would have liked Ellie. I wanted to write, the Ellie talking to Tony chapter, but I don't have enough of a feel of Ellie to write her.

Thanks for reading and reviewing.


	12. Just Another Day in the Office

**A/N** : This one is a dark one folks. Be careful. Stay safe.

It was the unlocking of the door that woke Ziva up. She had always been a light sleeper, even before her father, put a gun in her hands. She took the gun from her bedside table, surprised at first by the cold metal. It had been months since she had held a gun. She carefully got out of bed, using old ninja tricks, so as not to make a sound.

The only other person who had a key to her apartment, was Tony. He had said he was going to sleep at his place, when they had touched base during a mid-afternoon phone call. He had sounded out of sorts in that phone call, but she had put that down to the difficult case they were working on.

"Ziva it's me," a familiar voice called into the apartment. Tony. Relief washed over her. She slid the gun, she still had back into the drawer of her bedside table. She still had a licence for firearms, but it had felt so weird to be holding it. "Didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

She walked toward the lounge, sensing that all was not right, with her partner. She moved quickly, bare feet padding on the soft carpet. She found him sitting on her couch, in the dark, and still in his light coat. Spring had arrived, and she marvelled at the cherry blossoms that blanketed the city, but the nights were still cool. Tonight felt colder than recent nights.

"I thought you were staying at your place tonight," Ziva said, as she switched on the lamp. Warm orange light filled the room, for just a second, before the bulb blew. She wondered if that was an omen.

He looked exhausted. Dark rings around his eyes. His shoulders slumped. She knew enough, to know that today had been a bad day.

"I didn't want to go back to an empty apartment," he said, his throat dry. "Not tonight."

He hadn't wanted to be alone, with only a bottle of scotch to comfort him. If this was a year ago, he would have done that, but things were different now. Things had changed. He had planned to simply slip into the apartment, and sleep on the couch. Knowing, she was close, would have been enough of a comfort.

"Okay," she said, softly. Not pushing further. Maybe, they could wait until it was light outside before letting the darkness in. "Let's go to bed. It is cold."

"I don't think I can sleep," he said. "I'll just stay here. Go back to bed. I'll be quiet."

Like hell, she was leaving him, to sit in the dark, and stew in heavy thoughts.

"What has happened?" she asked. She walked across the room, and sat next to him on the couch. A comforting hand resting on his thigh.

Fear laced her voice. She knew enough to know, that no-one she knew was hurt, or worse. Otherwise, there would have been a frantic phone call, from Abby, or maybe Ducky. Still, she could not shake the feeling, that another family or two, had received bad news that night.

"Just another bad day in the office," he said with a sigh.

She wished bad days in the office, meant lost monopoly money, or poor sales. Not death and destruction.

"You can tell me," she offered as she squeezed his hand. "It is good to talk about these things."

"No," he said. "This isn't your life anymore. I won't drag you back."

She had laid down her guns, hoping to forge a life of peace. He couldn't drag her back into the underworld.

"No, it is not my life anymore," she echoed, her voice sterner than she intended it to be. "But it is yours, and you are upset. We should talk about things that make us upset."

"I'm not sure I want to talk about it, right now," he said. "Not right now."

There was a promise in that not right now, it meant that there would be a time, where he talked. Not like before, where he bottled it all up.

"Okay," she said softly. Not wanting to push it. "But tell me, you will talk to someone. Soon."

She placed that emphasis on soon. She knew how the suffering could manifest.

"Already put in a request for an appointment with Manhands," he said, as she wrapped her arms around him. Pressing his face to her chest. He sunk into her embrace. "I won't just run through the motions this time. I'll actually talk."

Both of them knew how to pass a Psych Eval, with Dr. Braco. Both of them knew exactly what to say. Both of them knew, that while it put the bandaid over the bullet hole, it did not stop the pain.

"Good," she breathed.

"I think I might need more than the one session," he admitted. "This one really shook me up. It was even that bad, I mean we've had worse cases, but I know this one is going to stick with me for a while. Maybe, I'm just getting to old for this."

God, she was proud of him for admitting that. How many times, had they both pretended that the horrors of the world, had not shaken them to the core.

"Okay," she whispered. "You should take as many as you need."

"People died today," he said. She suspected as much, by his glum face.

She swallowed thickly. The mid afternoon conversation, had mentioned bits and pieces of the case they were working on. A Marine with a gang past found dead in a sketchy area. All leads pointing to his former gang. The young man had not fully escaped his past, despite his best efforts. They were working with the Metro Gang Unit.

"A kid died today," he said softly. "He must have been seventeen, just caught up in the wrong crowd. Had his whole life ahead of him. He could have gotten out. I had to make that call, I had to order his death. He was shaking a gun around, but he didn't know what he was doing."

She had made that call before. She knew the hell he was going through. She knew that the teenagers face would haunt Tony for a long time.

"You cannot beat yourself up, over this," she said, knowing this would eat him up anyway. "You had no control over his choices."

She too had watched life slip out of young people, who had been caught up in the wrong crowd. HAMAS, and other terror organisations, often recruited children to do their dirty work. It still haunted her that boy, who had detonated the bomb that killed her sister at the tender age of sixteen, was only fifteen himself.

"I know," he said, sounding so defeated. "Doesn't mean I won't."

She knew that. Guilt was quicksand, that they so often found themselves caught in. Hopefully, she could help him pull himself out, before it swallowed him up.

"It is not your fault," she assured him.

"That kid wasn't the only casualty," he said. "Metro lost an officer. One of their finest."

She swallowed thickly. Tony went one of two ways, with officers from Metro P.D. Like Gibbs, he had no patience for the incompetent ones, and worked on making their life hell. However, if the officer was like him, young-ish and spouting pop-culture references, he usually found himself a fast friend. It seemed he had found himself another friend.

"A guy named McNulty," he said. "Just like on The Wire."

She pulled a blank on the reference, but nodded along.

"He had a kid," Tony said. "A boy, he's about five. His name was Lucas or something. McNulty was showing me all these videos, when we were waiting to talk to a witness. Kid's hella cute."

Ziva frowned. Tony had been all about children lately. It had taken him longer than most, to realise how much he wanted them.

"It's the kids birthday in a couple of weeks, McNulty and his wife had split, and he bouncing off all these ideas about what to get the kid," Tony continued. "I think he was trying to make up for the separation somehow."

Ziva felt her own eyes prick with tears. There was so much suffering in the world. Too much hurt.

"That kid's gonna have the worst birthday ever now," Tony said. "Won't even get a present from his Dad."

"It's not your fault," she said softly.

"I know that logically," he said, "But it still feels like it's my fault. Maybe, if I'd been quicker after the shooting, maybe he wouldn't have bled out. Maybe, we could have saved him."

She knew these thoughts. Often they had plagued her. If things had gone differently. If she had done something else. Anything else.

"You cannot carry that burden," she said. "You did what you could."

"It doesn't feel like enough," Tony said.

"It never will," she said, voice drifting away.

How quickly the past slipped into the present, despite the barriers she put up to try and separate them. The past was a foreign country, but the borders were blurred. Memories slipped through.

She waited for a witty remark, about how she should not give pep talks. That's how these things usually went, with them.

"What am I supposed to do about that?" he asked instead. His voice cracking. His eyes bulging with tears. A few tears slipped down his cheek.

"Learn to live with it," she said, as she ran her hand over his cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen. "This is a bad day, but there will be good days again."

"Yeah," Tony said, voice heavy. The air around them felt heavy, like they were up a mountain. The sadness made the room humid.

"Come to bed," she whispered, as they both looked out into her lounge. Grey shadows danced on the wall, as cars sped by outside. Her television stared back at them, with a blank screen.

"I don't think I'll be able sleep," he said.

He didn't want to close his eyes, fearing what horrors awaited him in his dreams. If he closed his eyes, the train would be heading straight for nightmare city.

"That's fine," she said softly. "We can just lay there."

"I'll keep you up," he said.

"That's fine," she repeated. "We'll just lay there."

"Boss told me, that I only have to go in for a couple of hours tomorrow," he said. "Just to give my statement and tidy things up. Then he doesn't want to see me until Tuesday. Said I should take a long weekend."

"He is probably right," Ziva said. "I will be done with my classes at midday, I could pick you up. We could do something."

It all sounded so decedent. To make plans, when there was a five year old who was going to face life without his father, and a seventeen year old who took a bullet before, he could really know what life was.

"No," he said. "Maybe, I'll just go back to my place."

He was finding it harder, and harder to call his place home. Whenever, he thought of home, he thought of Ziva's overstuffed couch, and the seemingly endless supply of candles she had.

"I would rather, you did not," Ziva said. "I don't want you to hide from me, just because you are hurting. I do not want you to feel like you are alone in this."

 _You are not alone_ , he told her in Hebrew he'd learnt from Schmeil. Her father was dead. She was going back to Israel for the first time, since she had given up her Israeli citizenship. She had hugged him so tight in that airfield. He had been so goddamn close to offering to come with her.

"I'm not exactly going to be the best company," he said. He just wanted to hide from the world. She did not need to see him at his worst. "And you gotta study."

Her finals were approaching, and this time it was all a lot more stressful. In the fall semester, she had been taking a small course load, with most of the classes being repeats of high school. She might have learnt geometry in Hebrew, but eventually the concepts came back to her.

This semester, had a courseload almost double the size, and classes on topics she had never studied before. Tony had told her she could take the whole college thing a bit slower, that he'd wait for her, but a part of her wanted it done. She wanted to put that degree to work. She wanted to help people. She had taken so much from the world. Now, she needed to give something back. Instead of taking lives, she wanted to help people rebuild lives that had been shattered.

"I can take a study break," she said. "And I like your company, for better and for worse."

For better, and for worse. In sickness and in health. Till death do them part. They may not have said the vows, but they already lived them.

"We can have a quiet weekend," she continued, wanting to keep him close. "We will do whatever you want. But, we will do it together. We do not have to talk about what happened today, but I do not want you to feel like you are doing this alone."

As much as a part of him, wanted to hide. Her idea sounded infinitely better. They'd get through this together. Just like they always did. Just like they always would.

"Okay," he said, his voice still so soft.

She placed a kiss on his forehead. He held her gaze. There was still more to say.

"This weekend, do you think we can talk about what we started talking about the other week?" he asked. "You know about the future."

"About your career?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said his voice heavy. "I don't know how many more bad days I can take."

She knew what this meant. It had been less than a year, since she came to her own dramatic conclusion, that she could no longer hold onto the badge. The suffering was eating her from the inside out. She wanted this life of peace. Tony, was not so burned, but he could not keep giving it his all, as the energy reserves were low.

"Of course," she whispered. "Whatever you need."

"What if I don't know what I need?" he asked.

"Then we can talk, and see if we can get to what you need," she assured him. "We can talk for as long as you need to."

"Thank you," he whispered.

He had been thinking about leaving the team for a while now, not because he didn't want to work with Gibbs, McGee and Ellie anymore, but because things didn't fit like they used to. The days were harder, and longer. How much more suffering could he bear witness to? How much of his and Ziva's life could he miss?

"You are not alone, Tony," she said softly.

"I know," he replied. He really did believe it.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Thanks for the love.

Kinda meh about this chapter, but I need it to move the story along.

Next chapter will be up in a couple of weeks, because of the move. It features Senior.


	13. First Comes Love, Then Comes

Tony's apartment smelt musty, and dust coated the surfaces. Tony tried to remember they last time, he'd been in his apartment for longer than a couple of hours to grab something that had not yet made a home at Ziva's place. So much of his stuff now lived in Ziva's apartment. His father pretended not to notice the dust, as he stuffed Persian rice into his mouth. Senior, and his latest fiance, Linda had broken up, only a week after getting engaged. Tony's apartment was to be Senior's base for the next little while. It had been Ziva's idea to install Senior at Tony's apartment. Her argument being that it made more sense than a hotel, seeing as it was basically empty. Tony had reasoned that it would save him paying his father's bill when he flew away again, to chase his next 'business venture' or girlfriend.

"I'll tell Ziva, you liked the rice," Tony said, as he watched his father eat. Ziva had come over, and cooked for them, while Senior spilled his guts, about his latest romantic failure, before heading to the library, to give father and son space to talk. Their plans to spend the weekend together, as Tony got over a tough case, long forgotten.

"It's good," Senior said, as he cut up a piece of chicken.

"Yeah," he said, with a smile. "She's a really good cook, especially when she is supposed to be studying."

Senior smiled to himself, listening to his son talk about his girlfriend. There was so much love.

"You should marry her, Junior," Senior said, as he took a sip of water. During break-ups of past, Senior might have reached for something more exciting, but he was getting old. Too old for all of this. His heart probably couldn't handle another break, before it gave out.

"Because she can cook?" Tony asked, as he shoveled more food into his mouth. She tried to teach him how to make rice like this, during one of their lazy afternoons, but his never came out this good. There was always burnt bits at the bottom.

"No," Senior said. "But that can't help. Coming home to a warm meal, after making sure justice is served."

"She cooks for me because she likes to cook," Tony said. "I don't expect it from her. I like it when we cook together."

When they cooked together, he was very much the sous chef, to her head chef, but he enjoyed it. The accidental touches in the kitchen. That excited look on her face, when it turned out just right. It was a smile of pure pride.

"You should marry her," Senior said again. "She's a hell of a woman."

Tony shifted in his seat. He knew Senior was fond of Ziva, but he was skirting a line.

"I don't really think you should be giving me advice, about whom to marry," Tony said, trying to keep his tone neutral. Anger, and resentment seeped in, as his mouth ran faster than his thoughts. His Dad brought this out in him. They put so much water under the bridge, that sometimes little bits tried to spill over. They had to catch it all before the damn broke. "Considering your last relationship went so well."

"Maybe not," Senior said, not looking up from his plate. Tony was right, but that didn't stop the words from hurting any less. "But, I do you think you should marry her."

Tony already intended to marry Ziva. He had a five year plan, but he wanted to hear what Senior had to say, about it all.

"Why?" Tony said.

"Well, I've been saying it for years," Senior replied, with a smile. Father and son had the same methodology, when it came to lightening the room, after harsh words were spoken. "But, I really mean it now."

"Why?" Tony asked again.

"You both seem to be quite settled now," Senior said. "And happy. I don't think I've ever seen you this happy."

Senior was probably right about that.

"We are," Tony replied. "Well, I am. I think Ziva is. She seems happy right?"

Logically he knew she was. She said as much. She smiled. She smiled so goddamn much now. They both did. They were that couple.

Still, old doubts crept in.

"Yeah," Senior said. "She does. Really happy."

"Why do you keep going it?" Tony asked.

"Doing what?" came Seniors reply.

"Getting married," Tony said. "Or trying to."

"What's wrong with getting married?" Senior asked.

"Nothing," Tony said with a gulp. "It's just it never seems to end up working out for you."

"No," Senior said, moving his rice around on his plate. "But, I really thought it would this time. I thought Linda was the one, or close enough."

"Why?" Tony asked. "Why did you think she was the one?"

"Because it was like being with Catherine again," Senior said.

"Mom," Tony said. When was the last time, they had talked about her? Properly.

"Yeah," Senior said. "It's not just because Linda and Catherine were friends. I liked Linda for Linda, but sometimes when we talked it was like the last thirty-odd years just melted away. I loved her, Junior."

There was silence as the words stewed in the room. When was the last time father and son had a conversation so heavy?

"I liked her too," Tony whispered.

He had only met Linda a handful of times, since her and his father had gotten reacquainted, but he rather liked Linda. She kept Senior in line, and they were both always laughing. His Dad had seemed happier than he had been in years.

"When we were getting ready for your mother's funeral," Senior begun. His voice heavy. "You went and hid in her closet."

"Because it smelt like her," Tony said. His voice soft, as the years slipped away. Suddenly he was eight years old again, and his mother was never coming home. The sadness a familiar taste in his mouth.

He and Ziva had talked about this once, Ziva and her sister had done the same thing when their mother died, hiding under her bed sheets, inhaling her smell. Wishing for her to come back.

"Linda was the one who coaxed you out," Senior said, diverting his eyes to the window. These memories, rested heavily on him. "I was already halfway through a bottle of scotch, I hadn't even noticed you had run off."

Tony blinked a few times. Surprised at Senior's honesty.

"I had forgotten that it had been Linda, who found me," Tony admitted. In his memories, he remembered a pair of hands, and a soft feminine voice coaxing him out of the closet. When, he told the story to Ziva, he had said it was a maid who came and got him.

"Well, you didn't see her again, for a long time," Senior said. "Memories get fuzzy."

"Yeah," Tony said, with a sigh. "What was Mom's favourite band?"

Senior looked up from his food. Surprised by such a question.

"Why do you ask?" Senior asked.

"Ziva and I talked about our mothers," Tony begun. "When we were in Israel. She said her Mom was really into Abba, and she asked me what my mom liked, and I couldn't remember."

"The way Schmeil describes Ziva's Mom, you wouldn't think she'd be into pop music," Senior said.

One of the side effects, on Tony and Ziva's official relationship, was that Senior and Schmeil had met again. They formed a budding friendship, and often met up when they were in the same city.

"Yeah," Tony said. Schmeil remembered Rivka David with her poets soul, and broken heart. Ziva had gotten to see a fun side of her mother. "You know you could probably say the same about Ziva."

Ziva's music collection was vast, and full of pop songs in various languages. Tony had been exposed to much of it, when she cleaned the apartment, or drove. He liked some a few songs, but to him it was mostly fast paced gibberish. Whenever, he complained about it, she would call him a grumpy old man.

"Honestly Junior, I don't really remember what sort of music your Mom liked," Senior said, with a heavy voice. He had forgotten so much. "But, once, we were in this hotel room in Europe for business. Maybe France, or Switzerland, it would have been one of our last trips before you were born. She was all wired, you remember how she used to get."

Tony could, but only in faint memories. Most of the memories, he had of his mother, were of her sick. He latched onto any other memories, usually spoken by someone else, so desperate for other pictures of her. She had been a ghost for so long.

"Anyway, she told me she wanted to dance, it was the middle of the night, there was nowhere we could go to dance," Senior continued. "Now, back then European hotel rooms were tiny, and the walls were paper thin. So, I sang to her, and we danced. Or rather we shuffled and bumped into furniture. She laughed so loud, I really thought we'd get a noise complaint. I miss her laugh. I miss it so much."

Tony smiled, he hadn't heard this story before. Or at least, he could not recall.

"We should talk about her more," Tony said. These memories stung, but they were welcome. They needed to feel the burn.

"Yeah," Senior said, his eyes glassy. The years had slipped away "We should."

"How did you know she was the one?" Tony asked.

"I don't think I realised she was the one, until she was gone," Senior admitted. Age had given him a sense of clarity. This clarity was bittersweet. "If I'd known what I know now, I'd have been there more."

"But, you two got married fairly quickly," Tony said. He knew the facts of his parents relationship. They had met in the late spring of 1966, and were married by the time the autumn leaves blanketed central park.

"Well, in those days you didn't hang around," Senior said. "Being with your mother was never boring. She made my days so much brighter. She was the first person, I wanted to talk to in the morning, and the last person I wanted to talk to be before I went to bed."

"I feel that way about Ziva," Tony admitted. She made him want to be better. He wanted the world for her. He would try and get the moon for her, if she asked.

"I know," Senior said. "You don't need to have a detectives badge to figure that one out."

"Is it really that obvious?" Tony asked.

"When she was here, you two looked at each other, like you were the only two in the room," Senior declared. "I hope, no I know, you'll learn from my mistakes."

He'd hold Ziva close. Too close maybe. She didn't seem to resist.

"How did you know, you wanted to marry Mom?" he asked. He was waiting for Senior to shut this conversation down, but so far the conversation was free flowing.

"I had to go to Europe for the winter, for business," Senior said. "And when I had girlfriends before I'd always let us break up. I wanted your mother to come with me. I couldn't go without her."

"What about all the others?" Tony asked. He wasn't even sure he could name all of his former stepmothers.

"Different reasons," Senior said, shrugging. "I was lonely for a long time, and I wanted companionship. A few of them had business connections. Mostly, I wanted to try and find, what I had with your mother, with someone else. I never came really wasn't fair to any of them."

"No," Tony said.

"You were engaged before," Senior said, bringing up something that had happened during the longest period of estrangement father and son had. Something Senior had only found out about a few years ago, when Tony mentioned an invite to the woman's Christmas party. "What made you want to propose to that girl?"

"Wendy, wasn't a girl," Tony said, with a half smile. It was over a decade ago. It felt like longer. He had been such a boy, when he got down on one knee for Wendy. "She was a few years older than me, and she dropped hints until I finally got it. I'm not sure if I really wanted it, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. In the end she chickened out, and pulled a Runaway Bride."

"That's how I ended up marrying Laura," Senior said, trying to lighten the mood. They both remembered a rather short-lived marriage of Seniors. That stepmother had not been one of Tony's favourites. "We all know how that ended."

Father and son laughed.

"I want to marry, Ziva," Tony said, as the laughter died away.

"I know," Senior said. "I always thought you two would do things out of order though."

"What do you mean?" Tony asked.

"I always thought you two would end up with a kid first," Senior said. "You just never seemed very traditional. Especially, with the whole working together thing."

"We weren't together when we worked together," Tony said.

This was something he was always having to clarify.

"There was something," Senior declared. "Between you two. It probably would have happened eventually, even if she hadn't decided on a change of careers."

He was also looking at a change of career of his own getting on a slower track. So he could balance the two cups. He wouldn't tell his Dad just yet. Everything was so tentative. He and Ziva were going to spend the weekend talking about things, but Senior had dropped in.

"Believe it or not, Ziva's a traditional girl," Tony said. "She wants the whole shebang, the chuppah, and the Rabbi."

They had talked about it once, as Tony introduced Ziva to The Wedding Singer. He had started whining about how expensive and pointless most of the wedding crap was. Ziva admitted she wanted a celebration, even though there would be lots of empty seats. _We should celebrate, even when so much has been lost_ , she had said sounding like Schmeil.

"It'll be a hell of a party," Senior said. His eyes lighting up.

"Small guest list, though," Tony said.

He made a mental list of people he would want to invite to this at the moment hypothetical wedding, and came up with less than twenty. Almost all of them would be on Ziva's list too.

"You don't need lots of people to have a good party," Senior declared. "Not when there are DiNozzo's involved."

"No," Tony said with a smile.

"So, when are you thinking of getting down on one knee?" Senior asked.

"Soon," Tony said.

He'd been thinking about it on-and-off for a while. Maybe, during their trip to Italy. Or during the dinner he had booked for their anniversary at the end of May. Maybe he could take her on a weekend away, both of the trips they'd booked in the past few months had not been taken. The first lost to a case during the Valentine's Day weekend. The second given to Jimmy and Breena who more than needed it.

"How soon?" Senior asked. "You two have been together a year already. Officially anyway."

"Eleven months," Tony clarified. Eleven months, and they hadn't killed each other yet, or caused great hurt. Things were looking good. "I have a plan. A five year plan."

"A five year plan?" Senior asked. His son had never really been much of a planner.

"You know, first comes love, then comes marriage," Tony said. "Then comes the baby carriage."

"You two want to have kids," Senior said, voice starting to crack.

He looked at his son. Would being a grandfather, give him a chance to correct some of the mistakes he'd made as parent? Would Tony let him be a part of said grandchilds life?

"Yeah," Tony said. A soft smile on his face. "Once Ziva's finished her degree, we're gonna look into that."

Senior had dropped hints about wanting grandchildren, but as his son aged, he come terms with the fact kids were not in his sons future. On dark nights, when regrets and remunerations spoiled his sleep, Senior wondered if he had had something to do with Tony, still being so unsettled in his fifth decade.

"Are you going to wait until she's finished her degree to pop the question?" Senior asked.

"No," Tony said. "I've been looking at rings online. I haven't found the right one yet. It needs to be perfect. Ziva deserves an amazing ring."

Senior smiled for a moment. He had proposed many times, but the only time he really had fretted about it, had been with Catherine.

"Get me my bag," Senior declared. Tony did as he was told, and collected Senior's bag, with his eyebrows raised high in suspicion. What was his Dad up to? He was always up to something.

Senior sat the bag on his lap, and rifled through it. Placing various items on the table. Tony's eyebrows, just about reached his hairline, when Senior pulled out pair of fluffy handcuffs. After much searching Senior produced a small ring box.

"Dad," Tony said, "No offence, but I don't want a hand me down ring."

"You'll want this one, Junior," Senior said. "Trust me."

"I don't want the ring you used to propose to Linda with," Tony said. "Or any of the others."

Tony was not a superstitious man, but did not want to start his married life, with his fathers sloppy seconds.

"This isn't that," Senior declared. "But it has been used before. Open it."

Tony did. He studied the ring, and felt his mouth drop open. Recognition was instant. He could remember laying next to his mother, as the destroyer cells inside of her multiplied, watching the diamond of the ring shine in the light.

"This was Moms," Tony said.

"Yeah," Senior replied. "It was only ever hers, too."

"I thought you sold this," Tony said, as he studied the ring. It was a simple design, that felt classic. The diamonds still shone. Hadn't Ziva told him never doubt an Israeli on diamonds. "When times were tough."

Senior swallowed thickly. There had been so many tough times.

"There were a few times, where I came close," Senior admitted. Shame filling him up, and making his chest hurt. "Never could do it, though."

"I'm glad you didn't," Tony admitted, as he took the ring into his hands, picturing it on Ziva's finger. Picturing her smile, as she accepted it. Would she accept it?

"Your mother always wanted you to have it," Senior said. "I really think she would have liked Ziva."

"I do too," Tony said. He and Ziva had once talked about it. They talked about so much. He never wanted that to stop.

"So, you'll take it?" Senior asked a redundant question.

"If you'll let me have it," Tony replied, as he held it up to light.

A thousand memories overcame both father and son. Senior could probably remember the happy moments, but Tony could also remember the sad ones. His mother so thin, as the disease attacked her body. So thin that her rings fell off.

"I've been saving it for you," Senior declared. "And the right woman of course."

"Ziva's definitely the right woman," Tony declared, as he put the ring back in the box, and patted the soft velvet.

"So, when are you going to propose?" Senior asked.

"I dunno," Tony admitted. "I want it to be special. Ziva deserves one of those proposals that she can tell all her friends about."

One that she could tell their kids and grandkids about.

"Why not do it, in front of all of her friends?" Senior asked.

Tony shook his head, as soon as the idea fell from Senior's mouth.

"She had a public proposal once before," Tony said. "She said she didn't like it. She'd like something more intimate."

"I'm not surprised that a catch like Ziva, has been engaged before," Senior mused to himself. His aging brain sometimes mixed up thoughts, and what was spoken.

"She wasn't," Tony said quickly. "She never said yes. It didn't end well."

She'd come awfully close. She had started to picture a life as Mrs Cruz. How, it had broken his heart to see. He'd wanted her to be happy. And, a part of himself that he was not ready to bring out from hiding, wanted her to be happy with him.

"Do you think, she'll say yes this time?" Senior asked. To him.

"I hope so," Tony said, as he slid the ring into his pocket. "I really do."

A thousand doubts crept over, prickling into his skin. What if she said no? What would he do? What if a too-soon proposal ruined everything? Things were going so well. Maybe, he should hold off on this proposal.

He reached out and gripped the table, hoping to centre himself, as the panic ebbed away.

"Listen son," Senior said, his voice firm. It seemed had caught on to the swimming thoughts in Tony's head, and how they were biting at him. "I know I'm not good at marriage, but I've planned a few spectacular proposals in my time. If you want, I can help."

He didn't really have many people to turn to for advice. McGee was still McUnmarried. Ellie wasn't close enough, and with the marital woes she had discussed with him a few weeks ago, he didn't want to rub salt in the wounds. Palmer, might enjoy the distraction, but was a little out-there in terms of ideas. Ziva definitely would not want a flash mob proposal. It would just be plain weird to ask Gibbs, who also had done a few of these.

"I'd like that, Dad," Tony said, as Ziva's key unlocked the door.

There she was. Her laptop bag hanging off her shoulder. Her pulled back in a messy ponytail. A tray with coffee cups in her hands. He got up to greet her, and take the cups from her.

He smiled. She smiled. The cups found a place on the kitchen counter. He placed a kiss on her cheek.

God, he was glad to see her.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

It was never established what Tony's mother's name was, so I went with Catherine.

Also *spoiler* the proposal is not in the next couple of chapters, but the next chapter will feature Ziva.

Thanks for all the love. Especially the guest reviews, which I wish I could reply to. And to my frequent fliers Sue and Fred, hi!

Thanks for being so patient, with updates. The move went well, but my goodness there was so much to do. So much.


	14. Ducks In A Row

It was the first night of Passover, and they were about to be late for the Seder they had been invited too.

He'd skipped out of the office around three, leaving McGee and Ellie to the paperwork, and with mouths aghast. Both had tried to protest that Tony was not Jewish, but Gibbs had simply asked him to say hi to Ziva.

"I have been thinking," Ziva said, as she appeared from the bathroom. Her hair done up, and wearing a little bit of makeup.

She was wearing that teal blue dress she tended to wear for Thanksgiving. It was probably a little warm for the dress, but it hugged her figure in all the right places.

"That's dangerous," he said, not looking up from the shirt he was buttoning.

"Isn't this where you ask, what I was thinking about?" she asked, as she bent down and fished under the bed, for a pair of shoes, that were hardly ever worn.

It seemed she was making a big effort for this dinner. Rachel and Jo, had called it a 'casual' Passover Seder, when they had invited them during Ziva's Purim party, almost a month beforehand.

New friends were hard.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked, as he looked up, satisfied he'd gotten all the buttons in the right place.

"Your father," she said, as she stepped into the kitten heels.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Are you leaving me for him?" he asked, in an exaggerated tone. "Before you confirm that, I should remind you that when it comes to DiNozzo's, the sequel is always better than the original."

She laughed a little, and ran her hands through her curls.

"I was thinking about his current situation," Ziva begun, as she stepped closer to him. She was wearing those earings he had gotten her last Valentine's Day, they were her favourite, she had claimed.

"Oh god," he muttered. "You're not going to set him up with a woman, are you?"

"I do not know any women his age," she said, as she adjusted his collar.

"They don't have to be his age," he said, with a frown. "Remember what he was like with you, when you two first met."

"He is very charming," she said with a purrr. "But, I was actually thinking of his living situation."

"Are you getting sick of me, already?" he asked, as he untucked and retucked in his shirt.

It had been a couple of weeks, since he had installed his father in his apartment, after his latest engagement had fallen through. Not much had really changed for the two of them, Tony already spent nine days out of ten at Ziva's. Her place always felt like more home, with its dozen throw pillows, and tiny television.

"No," she said with a smile.

He stepped back slightly, trying to remember where he had put the shoes that went with these pants. Were they here, or at his? This two apartment thing had drawbacks.

"He'll get himself on his feet soon," Tony said, as he walked around the bed, to the side he usually slept on. "Then you'll be rid of me."

"And, if I don't wish to be rid of you?" she asked, as she walked toward her closet.

"What?" he asked, stopping in his tracks.

"Maybe, I like having you around," she called out, leaning her head out of the closet.

It was one of those post-war reach-in closets, which had turned into a giant game of jenga, since two thirds of his wardrobe moved in. Everytime Ziva did laundry, she said something about getting some more closet organisation. They were yet to venture to a certain Swedish furniture store, with its flat-pack furniture, of which assembly required a PhD.

He bent down in front of his side of the bed, and felt around. He found a discarded sock, the bag they had stuffed his winter clothes into, and her yoga mat. His shoes were nowhere to be found. The ones he had worn to work would have to do. Rachel and Jo, wouldn't notice, he told himself. They were probably those 'shoes off in the house' people, anyway. They looked like the type.

Maybe he could change his pants.

"What are you saying?" he asked, as he stood back up, ignoring the creak in his knee.

She stepped out from the closet, holding his brown shoes, the one he had been looking for. Sometimes, it seemed like she could read his mind.

"I think what I am saying, I would like you to move in with me," she said, handing the shoes to him.

"That's what I thought you were saying," he said as he sat down on the bed. It sagged under his weight.

It seemed a trip to that furniture store was in their future.

"We are on the same paper then," she said, as she sat next to him.

"Page," he corrected as he fiddled with the shoelaces.

"Would you like to move in with me, Tony?" she asked, turning to face him. She wore an expectant look. What she was offering was no surprise, but rather a natural progression of things.

He sure would like to know exactly where all his stuff was. But, there were other praticalies, both financial and material.

Would his mid-century monochrome jibe with her cosy kasbah vibe?

"Yeah," he said. He really did.

"Good," she replied, patting his knee, as he bent down to put his shoe on. "We can organise it this weekend."

"Wouldn't it make more sense to move into my place?" he asked.

"In what way?" she asked. "We never stay to your place."

Early on, when they first got together, in those hazy pre-Israel weeks, they had tried to be more equitable, and visit each apartment alternately. That had fallen by the wayside once they returned stateside. Ziva's place was simply easier, and better in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Ziva's place was home.

"True," he said. "But my place is bigger. I've got lot of stuff."

Ziva's place had no room for his piano, not unless she sacrificed her dining table, which was both unlikely and impractical. Ziva liked hosting dinner parties.

"Yes, you do," Ziva said with a sigh. It had only been just short of five years since her previous apartment had been blown up by Mossad, to cover her tracks. Starting from scratch invited a sort of minimalism. "But, it is not like this place is forever. My lease expires in October."

He knew this, having been there when she signed on for another year. He'd been tempted to ask her to move in with him then, but that would have been out of convenience, and because he missed working with her. Now, he actually felt ready to live with her, not just play house.

"And," he said dragging out the sentence.

"I have been looking at houses," she admitted. "Not seriously, just browsing, getting ideas."

The David-DiNozzo dream house, was something they had talked about in Israel. Eli David had left Ziva a sizeable fortune, and she wanted to buy a house, eventually. She wanted to build a home with him. One with shelves for his DVDs, a huge kitchen, and brightly painted rooms for all the kids they were going to make.

"Are you asking me to move in with you, or buy a house with you?" he asked, fiddling with the second shoe.

"I am asking for you to move in with me," she said, fluffing her hair. "I will probably only renew my lease for just one more year. If we find a house we really love, then I would like to buy that house. I know I am in a different financial position to you."

Like hell, he was going to live in their house, without paying a dime. He wasn't his father.

"I'd like that," he said, as he took her hand. "I want to buy a house with you."

"You are not the only one with a five year plan," she declared.

"How about, when your lease is over in the fall, we move back to my place?" he asked.

He loved her place, but he needed to be pragmatic. They could swap his dining table for hers, as it had more chairs. Her moroccan style floor cushions, the ones he was always tripping over, could find a home somewhere. Her jungle like bathroom plant, would just have to adjust to his light starved much smaller bathroom.

"But, what about your father?" she asked.

"What about him?" he asked, as he finally put his other shoe on.

"Where will he go?" she asked.

There were a whole lot of questions floating around, and not enough answers.

"He's not gonna stay there forever," he said. He knew his Dad. "He'll find some new woman, or business deal and chase it."

"He is old, Tony," she said, a sadness seeping into her voice.

"I know that," he said, with a sigh. "Believe me."

Tony often looked at his father, desperate not to end up like him. So unsettled. One crisis away from catastrophe.

"He needs a home," she said.

"He's not a dog," he replied desperately trying not to raise his voice. "We don't need to rescue him from the kennel."

"No," Ziva said, voice neutral. "But, I thought maybe he could stay there. He has been saying how he would like to be closer to you."

"To us," Tony said his voice lighter.

They had managed a couple of Sunday lunches with Senior, since he arrived in D.C. Tony had found himself enjoying the closeness, and the regularity. He thought also, of the ring, his mothers, which Senior had returned to him, with a new recipient in mind. That was hiding in the built-ins behind his couch, in a place Ziva would never accidentally stumble upon, if they happened to be at his apartment.

This family togetherness was nice. Normal even. A dark part in Tony, the little boy who waited for the Dad who never turned up, wondered how long this would last. A leopard never changed their spots.

"Yes, he did say to us," Ziva echoed.

"It's a nice idea," he said, with a heavy sigh. Ziva lived in a rather expensive neighbourhood. "But, I don't have a bottomless inheritance, and I definitely can't cover a mortgage, and half the rent here. I did not become a Special Agent for the money."

Ziva also had the three properties in Israel, two of which she was renting out, and would be looking at selling eventually. The farmhouse, was too personal to have anyone else live in. She was not hurting for money, even if she lost a lot of the rent for the apartments on the property management agencies, and extra taxes.

"I as I said, I will pay more rent," Ziva said, wondering if perhaps she should try and nip the fight in the bud. They were getting late for the Seder."The money is just sitting there."

" That's just a temporary solution. When we buy a house, even when I move in here, I want it to be fifty-fifty," he said. "Things should be equal."

"Things would be equitable," Ziva said, trying to soothe his worries. "It would not be forever."

Or would it? Would he be struggling to pay two mortgages, when he and Ziva went all in on a house? When he and Ziva, were trying to feed and clothe mini DiNozzo's?

"It's not just that," he said, focusing his eyes on his shoes. "I don't really think I want to be letting Dad live there rent-free. I've covered enough of his bills over the years."

How many times, had he swiped his card at the damn Adam's House Hotel, and dread next months bill.

"I do not think your father, will accept living there rent-free," Ziva said.

She clearly did not know Senior well enough. The man would jump at anything free.

"Maybe not," Tony said, aware that even with Ziva's fastest driving they would be late for this Seder. She promised him that Rachel and Jo, were lax when it came to the stricter traditions, and he hoped that extended to punctuality. "But, whatever I ask him to pay would be way below market. Plus, there'd be months where he's late. I don't think I could be his debt collector too."

Ziva found herself looking at her shoes. Maybe, she'd overstepped this time?

"We could simply never look at the account," she offered.

"If he ever found that out," Tony begun. "He'd never pay it."

"I could look after the account," Ziva offered. "You'd never have to know, if he was a bit late."

"I don't want to expose you to that," he murmured.

"I think I can handle it," she said, with the confidence he remembered from her days as the cocky Mossad liaison officer. "We are trying to build a future, and does that not mean sharing the load on some of the difficult stuff."

She'd been doing her therapy homework.

"He'll use his charm," Tony begun.

She let out a laugh.

"How easily you forget about my former career," she said. How easily, he did indeed. He smirked for a moment, glad they had gotten to the point where they could joke about it. "If I could get men to cry for their mothers, with a few words. I can get an old man to pay his rent. Besides, I am immune to DiNozzo charm. I know all the tricks in the book."

"He left me in a hotel room once," Tony said, his voice heavy. Suddenly, he was ten years old again, left alone in Maui, with only room service and movies classified above his age level. "For four days. I don't want you to be disappointed in him, like I was"

Ziva felt her stomach turn. The sins of the father, were not easily forgiven. She had definitely overstepped the line.

"Okay," she said calmly. She was about to backpedal, and backpedal fast. "We should not talk about this. It was just an idea. It is probably not a very good one."

That was the thing. It was a damn good idea.

"It is good," he admitted. "Really good. I worry about him sometimes, the con doesn't sound so exciting when you're pushing eighty."

"I think," Ziva said, as she took a deep breath. "That I am pushing this, because of my own issues."

And with that, Eli David roared his ugly head into their own conversations. He was a ghost they just could not bust.

"I know there are things you wanted to say to your Dad," he said, as he wrapped her hand in hers. "That you never got too."

This conversation weighed heavily on them. This always happened when they talked about Eli. Even in death, he had a foreboding presence.

"A part of me thinks they would have always gone unsaid," she admitted, leaning her head onto his shoulder. "Still, what did or did not happen with my father, does not change you and your father."

Not directly anyway, but neither would deny it had an influence.

"I want you to always see my Dad as a good guy," he said, "When we have kids, their gonna expect to have grandparents, and they should probably have one parent who doesn't have issues with him."

These future children, Tony so easily conjured, would only have one biological grandparent. Ziva, wondered if Gibbs' would fill one of the vacant spots.

"I thought you two were getting better," she said. "Last Sunday was okay. Good, even."

They had developed a routine. Ziva and Tony would cook a lunch, then Ziva would go to the library or on an errand, and Father and Son would watch a ballgame.

"It ebbs and it flows," he replied. Being honest, it was so easy to be honest with her."We've been having a good time lately. I've liked that, but what if this landlord idea ruins that."

"Okay," she said, "It is just an idea, we can never talk about it again. I mean, even if we did bring it up with him, he might have other plans. He always lands on his feet, yes?"

Like a cat. Surely by now, he was running out of lives.

"Most of the time," Tony said softly. "We should get going, we're gonna be late."

"Very late," she said, as she got up, and offered her hands to him. She couldn't play the Israeli card on this one, they were going to be late, late.

"We can blame it on me," he offered, as he stood up. "We;ll say I had a hard time leaving the office. You know making the world a safer place, and all that jazz."

Ziva's friendship with Rachel and Jo was budding. He didn't want anything to stop it from blooming. Ziva had wanted to have more Jewish friends for a while. He liked them too.

"I will just drive fast," Ziva replied, as they walked toward her doorway, hovering near the coat rack. Both of them craned their necks to look at the weather, through the back window. Could they get away without jackets?

"I wanna talk about it," he said, picking up his Spring jacket, and then putting it back. "Later."

He wanted to talk to her about lots of things.

"Of course," she said, as she grabbed her Spring trench coat, the one he'd piled his work bag over the top of. If they were serious about this moving in together thing, they'd have to get organising.

"And, I do want to move in with you," he said, as they both checked their hair in her mosaic-framed mirror, and slipped through the front door. "One hundred percent."

"Good," she said, jangling her keys, as they walked toward the elevator.

"We'll work the rest out," he said. His voice wavering. "Right?"

"We will," she promised, turning to him a showing a huge smile. They stepped into the elevator, and Ziva text Rachel, claiming they were stuck in traffic.

They were so damn late.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

I know in the last chapter, we had father and son be a lot closer, but I think money would be a pressure point for Tony and Senior's relationship.

I'm aware you are all waiting with baited breath for the proposal. It's coming.

I'm a bit of an interior design 'junkie', hence the over description of their interior decor. Did, I find a clip from 'Aliyah' to determine Ziva's home style had Moroccan elements? Did I do the same with 'Family First' for Tony and his monochrome Old-Hollywoodesque apartment? Yes I did.

Thanks for all the reviews, faves and love.


	15. Thank You For Being A Friend

Tim smiled as he caught sight of Ziva, in the busy park. She jogged toward him, with a smile on her face. It was early May, and Spring had well and truly sprung. The cherry blossoms coated the sidewalks of the capital city.

"It is good to see you, my friend," Ziva said, as she wrapped her arms around him. Nice and tight. "It has been too long."

The last time they had seen each other was at the dinner they'd all gone to, to celebrate Delilah's new job, that had been a couple of weeks after Abby's birthday party. Time slipped away, too fast for any of them to catch it.

"You too," he said, as the hug ended. "You're looking good."

Ziva smiled. McGee's face turned beetroot.

"I mean you've always looked good," McGee started to stammer. "But, you look good. I mean different. Like happier, I guess."

She placed a hand on his forearm, offering him a lifeline, before he dug himself into a deep hole.

"I understand," she said. "There has been so much change in the last year."

It was nearly a year since they had all handed in their badges. Nearly a year since McGee and Delilah started dating. Ten months since Ziva gave up the badge. Their little world was completely different.

"Are you happier?" McGee asked. "You seem happier."

She paused for a moment, ran her hands down her exercise tights, and turned to him, still pondering the question.

"Yes, Tim," she said. "I think I am."

 _Happiness is a choice. Ziva_ , her therapist had said months ago. She'd resisted of course, believing she did not deserve happiness. Now, she started to embrace it. She chose to be happy.

"That's good," he said, as he looked toward the running track. "That's so good."

"We should get started," Ziva said, as she pulled her foot to the back of knee, stretching her hamstrings. "We did say we were going to run."

"Yeah we did," McGee said with a frown. The warm weather had reminded him that his workout routine had fallen by the wayside, especially since Delilah had been injured. "Can I ask one thing before we get started?"

"Of course," Ziva said.

"Did Tony really go to a Passover Seder?" he asked.

Ziva frowned for a second. Tony had told her that McGee and Ellie, had not believed him, when he had slipped out after lunch, on a Tuesday. McGee could remember a year, where Tony snuck out for fictitious doctors appointments.

"He did," Ziva said, as she slid her hand into the tight pocket of her exercise tights and retrieved her phone. She opened it up, and handed it to McGee, flicking through the photo section.

"Is Tony holding a baby?" McGee asked, as he zoomed in on a photo of all of the guests at the Seder. It had been the hosts Rachel and Jo, Tony and Ziva, and two other couples Ziva had not met before. The younger of the couples, had a eight month old baby, who had spent most of the seder on Tony's lap.

"Yes," Ziva said.

"He's not scared," McGee begun. "Last time we had a case with kids, he freaked out."

Where was the real Tony, and who was the alien that replaced him. Love enough would not be enough to cause a personality change.

"He hogged the baby, for the entire dinner," Ziva told her friend. "It was very cute."

"Wow," McGee said. "Things are really changing for him."

"Yes," Ziva said. "Now, we really should get started."

"Okay," McGee said, as Ziva slipped her phone back into her tights.

She started to run. Speeding ahead of him. She had always been so fast.

"Wow," McGee said, when he caught up to Ziva. He took a few heavy breaths. "You don't have to catch bad guys, and you can still outrun me."

"Don't take it personally, Tim," she said. "I have always enjoyed running."

"So you still run?" McGee asked.

"Yes," she told him. "But, not so often, and not so early. I have embraced the sleep-in."

Waking up at seven, not five was as close to a sleep in she was ever going to get, but Tony still called it progress.

"I wish I could like running," McGee admitted. "It just feels horrible. Most exercise feels horrible."

"I like it because it gives me time to think," Ziva said.

She always liked the feeling of her feet pounding the pavement, and that breathless feeling when she pushed herself too far. Running as the sun rose over Tel Aviv, before it got too hot.

"Yeah," McGee said, as the passed another runner, who was speeding ahead.

"How are you doing Tim?" she asked, after a couple of quiet seconds.

"Fine," he said too quickly.

She was a few steps ahead of him, and turned to greet him with her eyebrows raised high.

"Delilah flew out last week, no?" she said.

"Yeah," McGee said. Delilah was on a year long secondment in Dubai. It was something she had been working toward before she got hurt, and something she had clung onto as she worked her way through rehab and adjusted her changed life. "But, it's fine. We skype a lot, we're always texting. I booked tickets to go see her in July, once you and Tony get back from Italy."

In April Gibbs had found himself approving a week long vacation for each member of his team. July was going to be a long month.

"July," Ziva said with a cough. "Not even the locals stay in Dubai during July. The heat will kill you."

McGee grimaced.

"I did wonder why the tickets were so cheap," he said. "Dee said her apartment has really good air conditioning."

"You will need it," she said.

"Why did you ask how I was doing?" McGee asked. "Did Tony say something?"

It was a weird dynamic. They had once all worked together. Tony and Ziva had paired off. Ziva had left. Now, Tony and Tim worked together. At first McGee had felt weird, talking about Ziva with Tony, like she was just another girlfriend. Things were getting better, time healed all things.

"No," she said firmly, as they reached their start point again. "I am asking, because it is a big change. I have done the long distance thing. I thought you could do with a friend."

McGee swallowed thickly, was it really fair for Ziva to compare her and Ray, or even her and Rivkin, to him and Delilah.

"When we got together, I knew this was a possibility," McGee said. "She's been working toward this for a couple of years, and it's in her five year plan. It's going to open up a lot of doors for her."

Ziva nodded, she might be out of the game, but she knew how important this posting would be.

"We talked about it when she applied before Christmas," McGee said. "And, I think we both kinda thought that if it happened, we'd break up, and then when she came back, we'd see where things took us. I mean our jobs are crazy enough, we didn't need to add a long distance relationship into the mix."

"But, you are still together, no?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah," McGee said. "After the bombing things changed. I know things changed way more for Delilah, and I really don't know how she manages to be so positive after everything. She's so amazing. For me, coming so close to losing her made me realise, I can't let her go."

Ziva slowed down her pace.

"I didn't realise things had gotten so serious," Ziva said.

"You know what," McGee said. "Neither had we. I wish we'd had more time for the dust to settle, after she came back from rehab, before she left for Dubai, but when she comes back I wanna go all in."

"That is good," Ziva said. "I am glad for you."

They were all growing up. Finally.

"I've been looking at places," McGee said, as they passed the water fountain for the second time. "She had to give up her lease, and my place is not accessible enough for her."

She thought of Tony's apartment, with its wide doorways, and huge bathroom.

"I cannot imagine it has been an easy search," Ziva said.

"No," McGee admitted. "I was talking to Gibbs' about it, do you know what he said."

"What?" she asked.

"Buy a house," he muttered.

Ziva laughed.

"I mean eventually yeah, and it was probably be easier to remodel a house to make it accessible, than trying to work with an apartment," McGee said, "But I kinda think, that is a thing Dee and I should do together."

"Yes," Ziva said. "Is Delilah enjoying Dubai?"

"She said it's easier," McGee said. "Her team didn't know her before she got hurt, so there's not that weird dynamic, she had with her old team, after she came back from rehab."

Ziva nodded thoughtfully.

"She wanted me to thank you for the modesty tips," he said. "She gets enough stares because of the wheels, she didn't want an exposed shoulder to cause offence."

"That is fine," Ziva said. "I am glad they helped."

"Tony said, you two are moving in together," McGee said, after a few quick strides. His legs were starting to ache, but it was a good burn. "Well officially anyway."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, in a teasing tone.

"At the party you had for Purim, it was kinda obvious, he basically lives there," McGee said. "He knew where everything was, and all the DVD's everywhere."

"Yes," Ziva admitted. "That is because I do not like his apartment, and every time he came over he seemed to bring something else."

The weekend of the official moving in, they had spent far too long of a Saturday afternoon, in a certain Swedish furniture store, looking at solutions for her closet. The warmer months had meant there was less mess, however under the bed now lived very organised boxes of clothes.

"His Dad is staying there at the moment, right?" McGee asked, as they passed the starting point again, moving on to the third lap.

"Yes," Ziva said.

"For good?" McGee asked.

"I do not know," Ziva admitted. "Things are a bit up in the air, that is the right term, yes?"

"Yeah," McGee said enthusiastically. "I suppose things always are with Senior."

"Yes," Ziva said, remembering the tense discussion that she and Tony had, before they went to the Seder. One that was only really temporarily resolved.

They ran for a little while in silence, watching the park around them. Kids played on the playground. Old people sat on benches and complained about life. A young couple, took breaks from their make-out session only to take sips from the same fast food cup.

"How is your father, Tim?" Ziva asked.

Tim sucked in a heavy breath. They finally got caught in the riptide, they had been trying to avoid.

"Okay, I guess," Tim said. "I haven't been visiting much."

"You've been busy," she assured him.

"Mom and Penny keep me updated," McGee admitted. "Sarah too, she's taken a semester out of her PhD program. He and Sarah are close."

She knew what he was trying to say. Admiral McGee, was kinder to Sarah. Her own father had been kinder to Tali.

"Did you forgive your Dad?" McGee asked. "Before he died."

He heard Ziva take a breath. This conversation was diving deep, both parties hoped they wouldn't drown in it all.

"I shouldn't have asked," McGee said quickly. "I mean, we can't really compare our Dads."

"I see similarities," Ziva said. "I know, I only met your father briefly, but I do think it is fair comparison."

"Yeah," McGee said. "Probably is."

"I do not think, my father and I would have ever reconciled," Ziva said, feeling a weight lift off her as actually admitted it. "Not fully. There was just too much, that we could never talk about."

"I think it's like that with my Dad," McGee admitted.

"I forgave him," Ziva said, as their pace slowed to walk. "I could not carry on hating him. It was hurting me."

McGee took a deep breath. Surprised at such honesty.

"I wrote him a letter, listing all the things I wish he had understood, or at least been able to talk about," Ziva continued. "Then I burnt it. He always told me that if you do not want someone to read something, you should burn it."

The ashes had fallen into the olive groves, to be absorbed by the ground.

"Did it help?" McGee asked.

"I think so," Ziva admitted. "There are still days where things are hard, but I am moving forward."

She and Tony were trying to plan a future, to build a home.

"Thank you," McGee said, as the two of them stopped. The running had definitely suffered under the strain of the heavy conversation.

"For what?" Ziva asked as they walked to a bench, recently vacated by two old people.

"Being honest," McGee said. "I've been finding it hard to talk to people about this. I mean, Delilah's Dad died when she was a Sophomore in college, but they were close. There's no bad blood there, just sadness about the things he's missed out on. She's been trying to get me to talk about it, but I feel like I can't. Especially, after everything she's been through this year."

"I understand," Ziva said. "Perhaps you should talk to Delilah about it more. She will be wanting to help."

She knew where McGee was coming from, she had struggled so much to talk to Tony about her father, and the grief that still lingered.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm going to visit my Dad next weekend, I'm gonna try to talk to him a little, but he's pretty hopped up on painkillers."

Ziva frowned. She did not have the highest opinion of the Admiral, but did not like to hear of the suffering preempting death.

"I might steal your letter idea," he admitted. "I dunno if I'll give it to anyone. It really helped?"

"It did," Ziva said. "And as cliche as it is, time will help too."

He hoped so.

"Do you wish things had been different?" McGee asked.

"Yes," she admitted. "There are things that have been lost that I will never get back. However, I also know that my life would look different if he had not died when he did."

"What do you mean?" McGee asked.

"I do not think, I would have gotten out of the fire, before I got burnt," Ziva admitted. She dreaded to think what that would have done to her.

"You'd still be working at NCIS?" McGee asked.

"I think so," she said. "I do not think I would have been brave enough to make such a drastic change. I also think he would have never understood, if I tried. It took him such a long time to adjust to me choosing to live in America."

"Did you worry we wouldn't understand?" McGee asked. Ziva spent a long time studying her sneakers, they were high-end running shoes, but the soles were getting thin.

"Yes," Ziva admitted. "Especially Gibbs."

"He took it quite well," McGee said. "Not that he ever gives much away, especially when it comes to feelings."

"No, he does not," Ziva said, with a smile. "But, he told me he understood."

"Delilah wants me to look at my career," McGee said. "It's more of a gentle nudging. I mean I've been in Gibbs' team for a decade. Tony's been there even longer. I dunno if I still want to be there in five years."

"Are you looking to make a change, Tim?" Ziva asked. She did not want to mention, the ongoing conversation conversation she was having with Tony, about similar changes he wanted to make.

"Not right away," McGee said, "I don't think Abby could take it, if anyone else left, just yet. Ducky going part-time has been hard on her. She gets it, I mean that man is in his eighties, but its still an adjustment."

"I can imagine," Ziva said. "But you are going to be more open to opportunities, yes?"

"Yeah," he said. "Now, that I know, you can leave the team, and not lose them, I'm more comfortable with the idea. Even, if I end up doing a desk job."

"It is like Abby always says," Ziva said with smile. "We are a family, and you cannot quit this family."

"You always were the bravest," McGee said. "Out of all of us."

The first to stand up and fight. The first to know to fight for themselves.

"I do not think so," Ziva said. "I am just very glad, you all stayed in my life, even after I left."

She had so greatly feared, that she would lose all of them. That they would never understand her choices. That she would only see them in passing or through Tony. Those fears had quickly been banished, as they all clung onto each other.

"Like we had any choice," McGee said. "You weren't just any partner Ziva David."

"Neither were you, Timothy McGee," she said. "Now let's cool down, and then I believe you promised me brunch."

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

So, the thesis, I think that has developed with this fic, is that our three musketeers needed Gibbs, as a stand-in father figure, hence the fact they all hung in there that long. Now, that it's been shown through Ziva, that you can leave the job without leaving the 'family' they've built, all of the Gibblets are able to move forward, from their extended adolescence, and make new choices both professionally and personally. Feel free to discuss.

Obviously, this is ignoring the fact it's a tv show, that's gone on for too long and the actors wanted to keep their jobs.

Also, not saying the picket fence life is the only way to be a fully-fledged adult, and one of the things I'd wished the show had explored with Abby is that you can be an amazing independent woman, with a full life. In the last seasons on the show, I watched Abby was such a woman-child.

Finally, my oh my this author's note is a long as the chapter, thanks for all the love, and reviews. There have been some wonderful guest reviews left, which have been encouraging and just lovely.

Also *spoiler* the next chapter will feature a proposal.


	16. To Have And To Hold

The June sun was fading as Tony slipped out of the restaurant, and onto the terrace. His hands were still a little wet, so he wiped them on his pants, and watched Ziva. She had her wine glass in her hand, and was sitting peacefully in the sun, wearing the dress he liked on her. She was a different creature in the warm summer months, more relaxed. Carefree, almost. Perhaps, it was the desert dweller in her.

"This is nice," she said, as he came and sat in front of her, carefully lifting the seat so it would not scratch the ground. "It was a good idea."

There had been a dinner planned for May, for their anniversary, but they had been in Stillwater with Gibbs then, missing their reservation in a far fancier restaurant.

"I do have them occasionally," he said, picking up his own glass of wine.

They had managed to get public transport to the restaurant, and would spend half a mortgage payment to take a cab home. He could already imagine the slightly tipsy cab ride, his blazer over her little black dress. A new diamond ring on her finger, glistening in the moonlight.

Tonight was going to be a good night.

Tonight was going to be the night.

Life was too short, he had decided as he buttoned his shirt, and she hunted for the shoes that went with the dress, their new closet organisation system, seemed to lead to more problems than it solved.

"Very occasionally," she purred, reaching her hand across the table for his. She rubbed her fingers over his wrist. She was smiling. That tispy smile that came with the wine.

"I wanted to do something nice," he said, as he studied her face. She tanned better than he did, and had bronzed nicely.

"It has been a tough few weeks," she declared, running her hand through her hair.

He reached over, and took the last piece of bread from their starter. Trying to smother his nerves in pure carbohydrate. He was an Italian, after all.

"Yeah," he said, stuffing the bread in his mouth. The mains they had ordered, were taking their time.

It had been a couple of weeks since Gibbs father had died, peacefully, and they were all so glad for Jackson to be permitted such peace. Gibbs being Gibbs, had kept quiet about it, keeping all those that cared in the dark. Eventually, news of Jackson's death had spread, and they had all ended up in Stillwater for the funeral. Gibbs being Gibbs, had been back at work a few days later, acting like nothing had happened, and was resisting any attempts of reaching out.

"How is Gibbs doing?" she asked, her eyes lighting up as the waitress appeared with their mains. Finally, both of them agreed telepathically.

"Well, it's Gibbs," Tony said, as their plates suddenly appeared in front of them.

They thanked the waitress, and watched as another couple walked onto the terrace. The two barely looked old enough to drink, but the man looked serious, with beads of sweat on his forehead. The sweat was not from heat, but from nerves. Tony wondered if this was the break-up dinner. It was an awfully nice place for a break-up dinner.

"You know what he's like," Tony continued.

She probably knew better than anyone. Gibbs and Ziva just got each other. A samurai code of honour, he'd told Ellie a few months ago, when she'd asked about why Gibbs' calls Ziva, Ziver. It was deeper than that, Gibbs and Ziva had an understanding. An understanding of how much horror the world contained.

"Maybe, I should go and see him again," she said, as she ran her knife along her chicken.

Ziva had popped over when Gibbs got back from Stillwater, with some food in tow. She had not stayed long, sensing Gibbs wanted some quiet time. He'd told her, he was okay, but she wasn't sure.

"Maybe," he said. His hand dove into his pocket, and he patted the velvet box he'd brought. Making sure it was still there. A shiver running up his back.

"Maybe, he will talk more," Ziva said. "Maybe, he just needed some time."

"Well bossman's not exactly a chatterbox," he said. "Even with you."

"No," Ziva admitted, flashing a smile "But he needs someone. We talk more now."

"Really," he asked, "You barely see each other."

"No we do not," Ziva said. "But, he talks a little bit more. I think it is easier, because he does not have to worry about me in the field."

"So he's spilling his secrets?" Tony asked. "Did he tell you how he gets the damn boat out his basement?"

"Not exactly," Ziva said, offering a half laugh "But, things are different now."

"Good different, or bad different?" he asked, as he put something green in his mouth.

"It is just different," Ziva said. "There are good parts, and bad parts."

She wanted to say more honest. Maybe it was. There was also more worry. She worried about him more.

"Okay," Tony said. "Maybe, you could go see him on Sunday. We both could."

"You know he sent me a text the other day," Ziva said.

"Gibbs can text" Tony declared, "How do grunts translate into text form?"

She fished her phone out of her impossibly small clutch purse, and presented it to him. Opening the screen for him, even though he knew the passcode. He finally got to the message bank.

 _Proud of you, kid._

"He even used punctuation," Ziva declared, as he handed the phone back to her. "It took me a while to figure out, what he was proud about. You told him about my grades, yes?"

Ziva's end of semester grades had been posted not long after they got back from Jackson's funeral. The lowest grade was a B+, and the highest was an A+, with a solid A for that statistics class that she'd hated. Ziva had been full of excitement, when she pulled Tony over to her computer to show him. She remained smiling for days. She had called Schmeil for their weekly chat, later that day, and he suspected that had been the first thing she told him. Tony could practically hear the pride in the old man, from across the ocean.

"Might have done," Tony said, a smile dawning over his face. "I tried to get him to talk about Jackson, but he kept turning the conversation away. Eventually, he asked about your grades."

"He does that," Ziva said.

"He wasn't the only one who asked," Tony said. "McComputerGenius was ready to hack into the university."

"It probably would not have taken him long," Ziva admitted. Her university often had technical issues, much to the dismay of Ziva and her classmates.

"Can I tell them about your grades, if they ask?" he asked. This was the dance they danced, how much could he share on her behalf? How much should she share herself? "Or maybe you should send 'em a text."

"Abby and Tim have masters degrees, Abby has a PhD," Ziva said. "I doubt they care about a handful of A's in a social science program."

"They do," he assured her. "Besides, we all need to get better at not talking about work."

Could their little family manage it? Whole dinners without discussions of cases or paperwork.

"I suppose," she said.

"Well, we'll need other things to talk about, when we start drifting our separate ways," Tony murmured.

"You're worried about that, are you not?" she asked. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, how easily she could see right through him.

"Kinda," he admitted "I mean weren't things different with everyone, once you gave up the badge?"

"Yes," Ziva said. "But, in some ways it's better. Yes, sometimes it's difficult to organise things, but I spend more one-on-one time with everyone. Sometimes, the conversations are more honest, that they would have been if we still work together."

"Like what?" he asked. He watched, as Ziva scrunched up her face, unsure if she should reveal secrets.

"It is just different," she finally said. "We do not have work to get in the way. Tim and I talked about our fathers, when we went for a run."

"Yeah, McGoo is looking McSlim, since you started taking him running," Tony declared. He decided not to pry any further. If McGee wanted to talk about his Dad, with him, he would. "You need to be careful with him, he'll waste away."

"The last two times, we have gone out for brunch afterwards, so there is no danger of that," she told him. "It is good to see him, more often. His stamina is improving."

He smiled. Glad, that Ziva and Tim has found their rhythm, it had been a hard balance to get right.

"Good," Tony said. Glad that his friend and his girlfriend had found their footing. "And it's nice that you and Breena have become friendly."

"Yes," Ziva said. "Though she does not want to do Krav Maga anymore."

The plans had been loose, offered at Abby's birthday party. Still, when Ziva had brought them up again, as her Spring semester drew to a close, Breena had declined over text, and Ziva had found herself disappointed, having wanted to get to know Breena better. She was more than just Jimmy's wife.

"You don't think?" he asked.

The Palmers had started a round of IVF in April. Tony and Ziva were the only people outside of the couple, and Breena's father who knew. Palmer had been quiet, the last couple of weeks, and Tony had put the down to the stress of the end of the medical school semester, and the treatments. Despite Breena's reassurances, Jimmy still thought of himself as less of man, because he was the one with the fertility issue.

Tony now wondered, if the quietness, had been because Jimmy was sitting on a secret. Maybe, it had worked.

"I do not know," Ziva said softly. "But, we should not jinx it."

She hoped that her friends would get good results. They both did.

"No," he said, tapping the wooden table leg. Ziva muttered something in Hebrew. He knew it translated to something like god willing, she had said it before, and called her superstitious old Jew.

"I do not think you should worry about what will happen when you move on," Ziva said, after a couple of moments of quiet. She'd finished her salad.

"That's easier to say than to do," he said, closing his knife and fork. His plate completely clean. He was definitely stress eating. The ring in his pocket, felt heavy.

"I know," Ziva said. "But, Tim and I talked about it, last week at bruch. We were more than just a team. We have been through too much together, just to drop out of each others lives."

"Yeah, I hope that's the case," he said. They lapsed into quiet, eating their food, and sipping the wine. "Do you remember Delores Broomstead?"

"Yes," Ziva said, with a smirk. "The wicked witch of human resources, that you had to buy a Secret Elf present for one Christmas."

"Secret santa," he corrected. Giving her pass, since Christmas wasn't her holiday, even though she did like presents. "And boy, do I admire your memory."

"It comes in handy sometimes," she said, with a smile. "Anyway, what about Dolores?"

"I've got a meeting with her on Monday," he said. "To discuss what my options might be?"

"You are ready to take that step?" she asked. "Have you given it some more thought?"

While Ziva had given the badge up rather quickly, Tony was slower in the decision making process. He loved his job, but also understood that it was no conducive to a life outside of it. That faint goal of becoming a team leader one day no longer fit him, but he wanted to still work in law enforcement.

He had a few ideas. They had made list of what he wanted and didn't want. His ideal job, they'd determined would be some sort of training role. Fletc would be the best fit, as he would have fixed hours. They had also recently opened a Fletc campus in Virginia, which worked as Tony knew Ziva wouldn't want to move.

"It's just testing the waters, seeing whats out there," he replied, feeling at peace with his decision. "Dolores said that Reynolds from Fletc is retiring next summer, which means there might be room at the inn. Reynolds is a legend, both McGeek and Bish had him."

"That is good," she said.

She had been grandfathered in, when she became a NCIS agent, with her experience meaning she had been spared Fletc, as an agent she had wondered if she was missing out on something, but now those thoughts felt distant.

"I've been thinking a lot about the future," he said. Honesty, sweeping over him. "I've been thinking about it a lot, these past couple of months. A lot is changing."

They had been talking about it a lot, those past couple of months; over dinners, and before they went to bed. So much talking. He didn't think he'd ever shared so much, with anyone.

"Yes," she said. "There have been good changes. I am proud of you. Of us."

He fingered the ring box in his pocket. He was so sure, today was going to be the day, but something in his gut was telling him no. He didn't doubt that he wanted to marry her, nor that she wanted to marry him. Maybe, a public proposal was not the best way to do it. Ziva was a private person. He'd been hesitant when his Dad suggested the classic restaurant proposal, when they discussed options over their newly regular dinners.

Maybe, today was not the day. Maybe it was just his nerves talking, but what if she said no?

"Me too," he murmured.

"Have you talked to Gibbs?" she asked, as she finished her wine. "He should be in the loop."

"I will, when theres something to tell," he said. "I'm not sure if he'll get it."

"I think he will," Ziva said. "He gets more than we think he does."

She too, had thought Gibbs would not get it, but instead his arms had wrapped around her.

"Well I hope he does eventually," Tony said, with a sigh. "Otherwise it'll make Thanksgiving mighty awkward."

She smiled, trying to banish his dark thought with her brightness.

"He will understand," she said softly. Willing it into the universe.

She reached across the table and pulled out the bottle of wine. There was enough for them both to have another glass.

"We should have a toast," he said, as she poured another glass for each of them.

"To what?" she asked.

"Lots of things," he said. "We've survived a year without killing each other."

Their anniversary had actually been when they were up in Stillwater. Their dinner reservations passing. Still, he had decided it was important they celebrate, even if it was a couple of weeks late.

"Yes, we have," she said with a smile. "Though, I think I have come close."

"We both remember the basmati rice argument," he said, holding the smile.

The worst argument they had since they moved in together, had been one about rice. Tony had brought home the wrong kind of rice, and Ziva had lost it. It was of course during the middle of finals, and the stress had erupted.

"That was not my finest moment," she said, looking away from him. Still so ashamed.

"Everyone gets stressed during finals," he assured her, reaching for her hand and rubbing her knuckles. "It's something we can laugh about."

"I will look at managing that better," she said. She had stared down terrorists, and yet a statistics final had made her blow as gasket. "But this year, it has been good, no?"

That no, hovered. He knew it was a hangover from Hebrew, to inflect her speech like that. Still doubt stirred in him, for just a moment. Her smile raged on, and the dark little thought popped like a balloon in a tree. It had been good. No better than good. Great.

"Very good," he said. "Better than good. There is so much to celebrate today. Your grades are amazing. Things are looking better with my Dad. You and I have moved in together."

They were happy. So happy that it was sickeningly sweet. For so long they had denied themselves this chance at happiness, and now they reached for it with both hands.

"We should toast to all of that," she declared, holding out the glass. "To our wonderful year, and many more to come."

He fingered the ring box in his pocket. He'd do it now. He'd ask her to marry him, promising her many more years. He thought of the speech he had been rehearsing for months, all the wonderful things he was going to say. The moment was perfect.

What was he waiting for?

A woman's shriek burst their little bubble. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, he was finely attuned to danger. Would he have to put his cop hat on?

"Oh my god, yes," the woman from cried. It dawned on Tony, the shriek was one of happiness.

Of joy. So much joy.

"Oh," Ziva said, looking at the scene playing out behind them on the other side of the terrace.

Tony turned around, and saw the sweaty guy from before on one knee, with a ring box open. The woman had was both crying and smiling. It was exactly how it looked in the movies.

Tony pushed his own ring box, deeper into his pocket. The damn sweaty kid had stolen his thunder.

"How nice," Tony said, swallowing the bitterness that came up. It should have been them.

"Yes," Ziva said turning back toward him. "Now, where were we?"

He was about to ask her to marry him. She would have probably said yes. She would have been the crying-smiling woman in the middle of a restaurant terrace. It would have been just like a scene from a movie. They would be the ones, getting the complimentary champagne from the restaurant.

"We were toasting," he said, swallowing the bitterness as quickly as he could, even though it burnt his throat. He smiled back at her, holding up his glass.

"Yes," she uttered. "To us."

"To us," he echoed.

To them. To many more years together. Forever and always.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Apologies for the delay, I've started a new job with a nasty commute that interrupts writing time. I'll try and keep updating every two weeks.

I did promise a proposal. Fear not kids, this will lead to a greater pay off. *ducks as my lovely readers throw rotten tomatoes at me*

I know in real life that Fletc is in one of those flyover states (I'm not American), but the show always seems to imply there is some sort of Fletc equivalent or secondary campus in the local area to the show. I'm gonna go with that.

Thanks for all the love. I'll reply to reviews soon. Huge thanks to all the guest reviews too.


	17. Under the Tuscan Sun

Tony smiled, as he watched the scene in front of him. They were in the very North of Italy, in a tiny town that probably only saw tourists, when they were lost. Senior had grass stains on his expensive linen suit, and Schmeil wore a very unfashionable bucket hat, killing some of his style cred.

"This is the last place where DiNozzo's of your line are recorded," Schmeil continued, as they walked through the quaint little town. "Before the records at Ellis Island."

Tony smiled again. Ziva had planned this all for him. He knew about the trip to Italy, but had not known about the genealogy Ziva had been researching, in the meantime. Senior had been a last minute addition to their little trip, as he was still bummed about his break up.

"This is where we come from Junior," Senior declared, as Schmeil looked something up on his phone. "This is the motherland."

And, it turned out that the Italian DiNozzo's hadn't really done much before they left for The Promised Land. They had been poor farmers, who boarded a coffin ship, filled on dreams, and starving in the steerage class. Like so many new Americans at the time, they had suffered in the cramped tenements of New York, slowly generation by generation, building a better legacy. It was not a linear ascent, but rather a game of snakes and ladders. Sometimes you're ahead. Sometimes you're behind. Tony liked to think he served the DiNozzo name well.

Senior and Schmeil wandered off toward a World War Two memorial on the other side of the square. It was on Schmeil's instance. For a small man, he was remarkably persuasive. Tony watched as the two older men, walked further and further into the distance.

"Thank you for this," he said, as he took her hand, wrapping his fingers in hers.

Enjoying the quiet time. It had been a long drive, and a long train journey before that, with Schmeil dominating the conversation. It had been months since Schmeil seen his Ziva, and a long time since she had spoken Hebrew. In this little stolen moment, Tony was glad to have Ziva all to himself.

"Schmeil did most of the research," she said. Schmeil had presented Senior with a little book of everything he had found. Senior had been so excited by it during the train journey. Flipping through it, to the white noise of the Hebrew. Tony, having not slept well due to jet lag, had dozed on and off, using Ziva's shoulder as a pillow. "It has been a busy few months, and retirement does not sit well with him."

"This is amazing," he said again. "Best birthday, I've had in years."

His last birthday, had been one they'd spent in Israel. It had started well, Ziva taking him to a classic film festival, and them watching Casablanca. It had ended with a shootout, and in Mossad's MTAC assuring Gibbs and McGee they were fine. Still, not his worst birthday, and he had told Ziva as much.

"You are not disappointed?" Ziva asked, looking up at him, with her huge sunglasses, and sunhat. She was wearing that summer dress he liked. The one that seemed to make an appearance every weekend between June and September. The one he could see down the top.

"Disappointed," he echoed, his voice telling her that he was quite the opposite. "I'm in Italy. My Dad's happier than he's been in weeks. Schmeil's here. It's been months since I've seen the man of steel. We're Under the Tuscan sun, baby."

Technically they were not in Tuscany, but she didn't bother to correct him. She enjoyed his joy.

"Well yes," she said, as they walked toward the two old men. Maybe, looking after two Senior citizens was practice for kids. They were always getting into stuff. They had certainly complained on the car ride, before both dozing off. "But, you and your father have all these stories about the DiNozzo's, and they do not seem quite true."

"No," Tony said. He had always sort of known, deep down, that DiNozzo family history was myths and legends than truth. "But, they are just stories. Besides, maybe that's part of the DiNozzo legend we left Italy, came to America with nothing and really made something of ourselves. That's the story I hope to tell our kids one day."

Her eyes lit up. Not my kids, but our kids. He seemed to conjure them up from nowhere. So easily. Was this the same man, who had so been scared of the Vance children, little over a year ago?

"I'll let your family be all the ones with the crazy stories," Tony continued. "How exactly, will we describe your father?"

She stopped. Tony's words leaving her stunned, and silent.

"You okay," he asked, tugging on her hand. He scanned the square for Senior and Schmeil, who'd wandered off.

"Yes," she said, as she started walking again. "I think I just I realised something."

A breakthrough, her therapist would call it.

"What have you realised?" he asked. Curiosity would kill this cat.

"I get to control the story," she said softly. "When we have children, we will get to control the stories we tell."

"I don't get it," he replied. Her mind ran far deeper than his, something he was forever in awe of.

"When we have children, if they ask about my family, I will get to control what I tell them," she said. "I mean yes, you will know some of the truth, but I will not have to worry about some of the harder things, until the children are old enough to understand."

The others would know parts of the stories Ziva would modify, but they would respect their choices, he hoped.

"By the time we have kids, they'll have those little microchips they put in peoples heads," he said. She frowned. "No, I'm serious, wasn't that what McComputerGenius and Little Miss NSA were going on about, when we all went out for dinner."

A few days before they had flown out to Italy, they had gone out for a pre-birthday dinner with Abby, McGee, Ducky, Ellie, Palmer and Breena. Ellie's husband had been invited, but ended up stuck at work. Both Tony and Ziva had noticed Breena was not drinking, claiming she was the one who was driving. They both hoped that, it was a good sign. Maybe, this time next year there would be a mini autopsy gremlin.

"I do not think that's what he meant," Ziva said.

"Tell me, did you understand a word of what him and Ellie were talking about?" he asked.

"No," Ziva admitted, shaking her head for emphasis. "But they were definitely not talking about putting microchips in people's heads."

"No," he echoed. "We were talking about the future DiNozzo's we're going to create. The world will be so much better for it."

"Yes," Ziva said. "I will not lie to them, but I am glad I suppose, that I can control the story. If our kids ask about my father, I can say that he was a man who worked very hard, because he had a duty to his country. They will not have to face waiting for him, and being disappointed by him themselves. He will never question their loyalty."

He swallowed thickly. This was heavy conversation for the warm afternoon weather. He got goosebumps under his linen shirt.

"I never really thought about it, like that," he admitted. "And that's certainly one way to describe your father."

"It is likely, he would have retired, if he had not died," Ziva continued. "So maybe, it would have never been an issue."

Maybe she would have had children, who saw their grandfather as a loving man, with a funny accent. He always claimed that if he had been relieved of his duty, he would have been a family man. Ziva, of course doubted it would have ever been simple. Men like Eli David did not retire.

"By force or choice?" he asked.

"He would have claimed it was a choice," Ziva said. Eli always knew how to twist the situation. "But that is not how it happened. It is neither here, nor there."

"No," he said. "You know I worry about that with Dad sometimes."

"Your father, will never fully retire," Ziva said. "He will always chase his next deal, like that Ocean's Eleven movie. It is in his blood."

He was very proud of her for the movie reference.

"I know that," Tony said, his voice cracking. "It's just, when we have kids, I worry about him repeating the cycle. I mean it'll be different because he won't be their parent, so we can protect them. I just can't help wondering, what if he fills them with all these promises and ideas, and never pulls through. Like he did with me."

"We will manage that," she said softly. "If it happens."

"If it happens?" he asked.

"He has not let down on promises lately," Ziva said.

So far Senior paid his rent on time, into an account which Ziva kept a day to day eye on. Tony had access of course, but he left it to Ziva. Tony hadn't been chased for any of his father's utility bills, nor had he been asked for money to pay them. Things were looking good, but time would tell.

A leopard doesn't change their spots. Not this leopard anyway.

"You do believe me, when I tell you about what he was like when I was kid, right?" Tony asked. Trying to keep his voice down. He had to know if Ziva got it. Senior and Schmeil were on the other side of a square, sitting down outside of a cafe. "I know he's this charming old man now, but he used to let me down all the time."

Her eyes started to moisten. The pain in his voice was too much.

"Of course, I believe you," she said softly. Her hand on his forearm. "But, he seems like he wants to change. Maybe, he will."

"Maybe," he said, more to quash the fight, than because he believed. He wasn't counting on it. He could never count on his Dad. History tended to repeat itself.

He wondered, how this conversation would be going if it was about her father, not his.

"And if he does not, then I will stand with you," Ziva said. Her voice firm, like she used to be in interrogation. "If we have to work out strategies for managing that relationship. It will be hard, but it will be important."

She was using her therapy words again. It was a joke they had, even though most of what she said was right. It was about managing relationships, and not letting the past impact the future.

"What?" he asked.

"Do you really think, I would standby, if someone tried to hurt you?" she asked, pulling her sunglasses off, so he could see her eyes. She was dead serious. He had only seen her like this a handful of times.

She was being so protective.

"I will always have your back," she said maintaining eye contact. "I will not let somebody come between us. If something threatens us, I will fight. I will fight for us."

There was anger in her voice. Passion. And love. So much love.

"We will fight it," he clarified. We. Us. They were in any fight together.

 _It was is against the world_ , they had told each other so many times.

"Yes," Ziva said. "But, if for some reason you cannot fight, I will fight harder. For both of us."

He stood dumbfounded for a moment. She stood on her tippy toes and put her hands over his face. Centering him. Nothing else mattered right now, they were just in their little bubble.

"I love you," he murmured. Glad, he had sunglasses on, because his eyes were glassy. She didn't need to see that. "You don't even know how much."

"I love you, too," she replied. A huge bright smile on her face. "So very much."

His phone vibrated, a text from Senior.

 _Hurry up. Schmeil wants gelato._

He handed his phone to Ziva. She smiled, and let a half-laugh. She was the only one who had Euro coins in her purse, and most of these small village shops would not take card, especially a foreign card.

"Schmeil, is supposed to be avoiding dairy," she declared. "It affects one his medications."

Age had caught up with Schmeil, very quickly after he had formally retired. The old man often joked, that if he was shaken, he might rattle.

This was definitely practice for having kids, Tony decided, as Senior offered him a big wave from across the square.

"Please tell me, we are not traveling with them the whole week," he said, with gritted teeth, as he waved back at the two old men. "I don't think I could take it. It's worse than traveling with McGee."

Ziva laughed again. A hearty laugh. He laughed too.

"I love Schmeil, but he is a terrible traveler," Ziva said, as the laughter faded out. "Both him and your father are going down to Rome on Thursday. We will have four days, all to ourselves. We are going down to Venice, remember."

"Thank god," he declared, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "The Odd Couple might kill the mood on the romantic gondola ride, I have planned."

He smiled. She smiled. He thought of the ring, stowed in his spare pair of shoes. The only place he knew Ziva would not go through, as she was the type of hang up her mans clothes.

He thought of the botched proposal the month before in the restaurant. He thought of all the proposal ideas he and Senior had listed on a quiet Sunday afternoon, in an attempt to be closer. He made a decision, she would have that ring on her finger, where it was supposed to be, before they flew home. He couldn't wait to start the rest of his life with her.

Then Ziva's phone vibrated killing the moment. She pulled it out and sighed. Schmeil really wanted the gelato.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

The next chapter is the big one.

Thanks for the love, and support. I know updates have slowed down. I know that this story is a bit of a mess, but everyone's reviews have been amazingly encouraging. I will reply to the review soon.


	18. On Bended Knee

He was noticing the sunburn, he'd acquired from their late afternoon walk across the square, when he heard a Hebrew swear word slip from Ziva's mouth. It was loud. Loud enough, for it not the be muffled by the shower.

The room in the bed and breakfast they were staying at was tight. Smaller than the couchless Parisian hotel room they had shared five years beforehand, when things were so very different. So much of the past half-hour spent getting ready, for dinner with Schmeil and Senior, had been spent tripping over, or banging into things. He was glad, this would be their only night in the cramped room, and hoped their next hotel room was a bit bigger. _You are just so American,_ Ziva had told him, when he'd started whining about the tight dimensions.

"Sweet Cheeks," he called, as he stepped out of the shower, and cracked open the door on the closet sized en-suite. His wet feet sunk into the grossly coloured and crusty-feeling carpet. Damn these European hotel rooms.

She was sitting on the bed, with one shoe on, and her hair half out, holding something in her hands. A small box. Those earings he'd brought her last Valentine's day, maybe. Had something happened to them during the flight, he wondered. They were her go-to dressy jewelry. _They are my favourite_ , she told him whenever she wore them. She always wore them with a smile.

"You okay?" he asked. She looked up at him, and held out what she had been holding. A soft look on her face. Confusion, maybe. Surprise, perhaps.

The ring box. His ring box. She'd found the engagement ring. His dress shoes, were on the floor in front of his well-used duffel. Years of traipsing across the world, meant he only ever traveled carry-on, as did she. Ziva's carry-on seemed to be like Mary Poppins bag, she'd managed to stash her little black dress and dressy sandal-boot hybrids in there.

"Oh," he said. Swallowing thickly, trying to keep his cool. His heart beating far too fast. The internal monologue in his head, was a stream of swear words. "You found it."

"It is beautiful," she said softly, her eyes resting on the ring. The diamond shone in the light. Never doubt an Israeli on diamonds, she'd told him once upon a time.

He sat down at the foot of the bed, next to her. He was still soaked from the shower and he soaked the bed, but neither of them said anything.

"It was my mother's," he told her, after a few seconds of silence.

"I thought it might be," she said, as she picked the ring out the box, admiring the tasteful diamonds. "You do not see rings like this anymore."

"No," he agreed, "You don't."

She put the ring back in the red-velvet box, and closed the box with a clap. She held it out, offering it to him.

"Here," she said, her smile slipping into a frown. Disappointment. "I will let you hide this away. I promise to be surprised when I see it again. When the time is right, yes?"

She was giving him an out. One he did not want to take. He wanted to grab this with both hands open.

"No," he said, as he opened the box again. The evening sun reflected off the ring, making shadows dance on the wall. "I want you to have it now. If you'll take it."

He wanted it all. He wanted their future to begin now.

"You know, I'll take it," Ziva replied. "But I know you, you would have planned something. I will not take that away from you."

She knew him so well. Too damn well. There was no-one else in the world, who knew him so well.

"I did," he said, smiling a little, as relief rose through him. "Remember that dinner The one for our anniversary."

Neither of them were aniversary people, and technically the dinner was about ten days afterwards, due to Jackson's funeral, but the restaurant had been fancy and French anyway.

"Where that other couple got engaged?" she asked. Her eyes lighting up with recognition. A smirk on her face. "You were going to propose there?"

He nodded. She let out a soft laugh. He laughed too. They dissolved into giggles. What else could you do?

"I was also thinking about doing it on the gondola when we go to Venice," he said, spilling the beans. "But, I looked into that, and thought it might end up with us taking a dip in the canals."

"Those canals are filthy," she told him, screwing up her nose, for emphasis.

"Glad, I vetoed that idea," he declared, as he plucked the ring from the box. "But in these last few minutes I've realised something. It doesn't really matter where I do this. All that matters, is that you say yes."

"I will," she whispered. "You know that."

She knew about his five year plan. Marriage. House. Babies. The other week, she'd referred to it, as their five year plan. Two people, who never thought they were worthy of such simple pleasures, wanted the picket-fence life. They wanted to create their own destinies, and have a go, at finding happiness.

"I did have this whole spiel planned," he said. His heart starting to calm down. "And that should not go to waste."

"No," she said. Smiling. "It should not."

Before, he had a chance to think, he was down on one knee in front of her. The towel getting tangled. He took his hand into hers, and slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, like he knew it would. He'd gotten his mothers ring resized for her. She had told him her ring size once upon a time.

"I would have said how the man I was nine years ago, wouldn't have believed that the same woman who accused me of having phone sex, and was dressed like GI Jane, would be the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with." he started. The years slipped away like peeling an orange, revealing a sweet centre. "I would have said that the last year has been amazing. I would have told you, how much I love you, and how I want the world for you. How I'm so proud of you, and how much you've grown and changed. How I see how happy you are, and I want to be part of that happiness. I never want to make you unhappy."

He watched how her eyes started to glass over. Her lip quivered.

"Please get up," she whispered. Offering out her hands to him. Thinking of his knees and back. Thinking of the towel coming apart, in the draughty hotel room. "You will hurt yourself."

"I would have told you how you make me what to be a better person," he continued, his own eyes getting glassy. "I would say that with you, I want all of the things I was scared of before, and with everyone else. I want forever with you. I would have asked, Ziva David will you marry me?"

A tear slipped down her face. She leaned forward, and bent down in front of him. There they were, just the two of them, bent down on the floor. It would have looked ridiculous from the outside.

"And, I would have said yes," Ziva declared, another tear falling down her face. "I do say yes. I want forever with you. I want it to be us versus the world. I am so proud of all the changes you are making. I want us to be happy together. I think we will be happy together. Just like it was when were on the field, I will always have your back."

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too," she whispered.

They both smiled. Huge glassy eyed smiles. They laughed. Laughter that sounded so sweet.

"So, we're getting married," he declared, as the both clambered to get up. The towel finally gave out, and he stood in front of her completely naked. Maybe, it was all a metaphor for what was coming next. "Anthony DiNozzo is settling down, I bet there's a bunch of people who thought hell would freeze over first."

She gave him a half laugh, as she handed him the towel.

"I suspect McGee and Abby have a bet on you proposing," Ziva said, as she played with the ring, while he made a show of regaining his modesty, even though his girlfriend, no his fiance had most definitely seen it all before. "One of them will be very happy."

He suspected the bet was more than between Abby and McGee, and was probably an office wide pool. He would be fielding questions about the exact time, and location of the proposal for weeks, by people he barely knew.

For now, he would just enjoy this moment. She said yes, without hesitation. She wanted forever with him. They were going to be build a life together. It was them versus the world.

"Dad'll be glad that he doesn't have to worry about blabbing the secret," he said.

"He knew you wanted to propose," she said, as she wrapped her arms around him. His wet chest hair, leaving marks on her dress. She didn't care. He didn't care. None of this mattered.

"Yeah," Tony said. "It came up, he needed a distraction. He had all these wacky ideas about how I should do it."

Those long Sunday afternoons, spent broadening Seniors palate, and making wild plans, while Ziva studied, seemed long ago now. Still, Tony had enjoyed the time with his Dad, he hoped the traditions would continue. Senior, was probably quite a good wedding planner.

"I love how it all turned out," Ziva said, with pure honesty. "I know it was not your plan, but I like it."

"I wanted you to have a story to tell," he admitted, as she looked up at him, with bright eyes. "Something to tell your friends."

"I will have quite the story," she said, flashing him a smile. "You proposed to me in a towel, because I knocked over the bag, which had the shoe where you were hiding the engagement ring. It already sounds like quite an adventure. One to tell our children, and maybe even grandchildren one day."

He flashed her a smile, as they thought of the future. Of little DiNozzo's with curly hair, and tiny one day, being older than they ever thought they could be, with even smaller DiNozzo's. It was all an exciting path, he couldn't wait to walk, with his hand in hers.

"Well, when you think of it like that," he said.

"I do not keep the type of friends who will care about all of this," she said. "They will only care about our happiness."

"Abby will want a play-by-play," he said. "She will care."

"Yes," Ziva replied. "But, that is Abby, and that is how she will show her excitement for us. All of our friends will be excited for us. Schmeil and your father, will be so happy to celebrate this with us."

"You really don't care how this went down," he asked. Didn't little girls dream about this stuff?

She shook her head. Answering both the asked and the unasked question. Ziva David, had never been that type of girl.

"It happened, exactly how it was supposed to happen," Ziva said softly. "We are getting married, that is what matters."

"Is this where you start to turn into Bridezilla?" he asked. "Am I going to spend the next year having to help you decide between cream and eggshell white?"

She laughed, throwing her hair back. Her slightly wet curls bounced. She had never been the little girl who played bride, yet she remembered watching Tali and her little friends play with sheets, how excited they got. All that fuss for one day.

"I do not think so," she said, still wearing a huge smile. "But, I give you permission to reign me in, if it does happen. Though considering you know that cream and eggshell are two _very_ different colours, you may prove to be very useful."

He wanted the wedding to be something they planned together. They were going to build a wonderful life together.

"Well, I am a man of many talents," he said. She placed a quick peck on his lips.

"Being on time for dinner is not one of them," she murmured, as both her phone and his buzzed. Schmeil and Senior, were three drinks deep and did not have to wait to long for dinner.

"I think they'll be pretty happy with the reason for our tardiness," he said, as he untangled himself from her. He decided to let his ring out. Schmeil could always pass on the message to Senior.

"They will," she said, watching him as he walked back into the bathroom. Through the mirror, he watched as she admired the ring again. It looked so good on her. It looked right. Everything was how it was supposed to be.

Ziva's phone went, and he heard her answer it. The conversation started in English, but slipped into Hebrew. It could only be Schmeil. He wondered if she was telling him, or if they were going to wait until dinner to tell Senior and Schmeil together. The four of them would celebrate until the sun rose. Then when they got home, they would celebrate with everyone else. There would be so much joy.

He watched through the mirror, as Ziva spoke to Schmiel. Still smiling. Always smiling.

There was so much love. Between them. Surrounding them. It was so gooey and sweet. It made his teeth ache. And, he never wanted it to end.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

There we go. It only took for-bloody-ever. We've got one more chapter in Italy. Then we'll see what happens, when the lovebirds return to Italy. As with everything, the plan I had when I started this, has gone out the window. We do have a few more storylines to wrap up.

Thanks for all the love and support dear readers. Especially, with our reduced schedule. I really don't know how people with real responsibilities, also manage to keep their fic so updated. Kudos to them.


	19. The Land of the Living

Senior placed another glass of wine in front of Ziva, as Tony walked toward the bathroom. The small restaurant was quiet. Schmeil had gone to the bathroom some time ago, but Ziva was not yet worried. Part of dining with Schmeil was these long bathroom breaks. For fresh air, the old man claimed. These breaks had gotten longer as he aged, the alcohol having more of an effect.

"We should toast," Senior said, as he took his seat opposite Ziva. Presenting her with new were drinking the night away.

"L'Chaim," Ziva offered, holding up her glass.

"Saluti," Senior replied, as he raised his own glass. They clinked. Ziva smiled. A full moon of a smile.

"And, I should formally welcome you to the family," Senior said. Still smiling. Their whole table, had smiled for the entire night, like fools. Happiness was a drug, and they were all high.

"Thank you," Ziva said. "Tony and I are very happy."

One didn't need a detective badge to figure that out. Both Tony and Ziva were all smiles.

"Truth is you were family, before Junior put that ring on your finger," Senior declared.

Ziva nodded. Her ring glisted in the evening sun. She watched as Tony from across the restaurant, as he motioned to the restaurant patio, perhaps in search of Schmeil.

"This last year it has been very good," Ziva said. An understatement.

"I wanted to thank you," Senior said, as he took a sip of his wine.

"For what?" she asked.

"For everything," Senior said, with the trademark DiNozzo grin. "I know you've always been there for Junior, even before you got together."

Senior did air quotes as he said 'got together'. Ziva rolled her eyes.

"Tony and I were not always kind to each other," Ziva admitted with a sigh.

Ghosts that she thought she had buried bobbed to surface. She cursed herself, couldn't she just let happiness wash over her.

"Maybe not," Senior declared, "But, you've kept my boy out of trouble."

"We always had each others backs," Ziva said. They had ran into the fire together, guns blazing.

"He is so happy now," Senior said. "I know I haven't always been there, but I know he was very unhappy for a while."

"We both work very hard on being happy," Ziva said, as she craned her neck, watching for Schmeil or Tony. She checked her watch, Schmeil had been getting air for a while.

Happiness was a choice. They grabbed it with two wide open hands.

"I know," Senior said. "I know it's selfish, but I've been happier these last few months too. I really didn't think I would be, after what happened with Linda."

Ziva nodded.

"I am glad," Ziva said, her voice softening.

"I know my renting Junior's apartment was your idea," Senior said. His voice cracking. "I really wanted to thank you for that. I imagine Junior had his reservations."

Ziva nodded, remembering the difficult conversations they had about the current situation. So far Tony's fears were unfounded.

"I do not want to play referee between the two of you," Ziva said.

"Of course not," Senior replied.

"And you should know, if something were to happen between you two, I would take Tony's side," Ziva said. The drink talking for her.

Senior swallowed thickly. The truth stung.

"Junior always says you are protective," Senior said, with a smile. Trying to diffuse the situation. "Now, I can see it in action."

"I hope it never comes to that," Ziva said. "I know Tony is glad you two are getting closer."

Senior nodded. He was glad too.

"I can't undo the past," Senior said softly. "There are times when I wish I could."

"He is not asking for that," Ziva said softly, "I think we would all like, if the past did not impact the future."

The future. How she wanted to grab it with both happy hands?

"Junior says you two want to have children," Senior said, as he finished his drink. Ziva swilled her glass, still half full.

He had thirty-odd years on Junior, and nearly forty-years on Ziva, but had out-drunk them both. Good ol' Schmeil was at least a drink ahead of him.

"Yes," Ziva said, showing Senior a full beam of a smile. "We would like that very much."

Senior smiled. For a second both of them imagined the same scene. Curly haired DiNozzos, with tiny hands, quoting movies on the playground.

"Catherine, would have really loved you," Senior said.

"Tony thinks that too," Ziva said, as she ran her hands through her hair. A nervous tic. "We talked about it once."

"I'm glad you two talk about these things," Senior said. "Junior needs someone to talk to."

"We do have some secrets," Ziva said, with a half smile.

"But you talk about the important things," Senior said, letting out a breath. "I've been around this particular block a few times, and being able to have those difficult conversations, they can make or break it."

Ziva nodded. A serious look on her face.

"We would like to be those people, who make it," Ziva said looking down at her lap. "He makes me very happy. I did not always think I deserved to be this happy."

Senior frowned at the seriousness of it all.

"You do," Senior said softly. "Both of you do. And I hope you will be."

She looked up, offering a smile.

"Shall, we have another toast," Senior asked, matching her smile and getting up. Ziva swatted him down.

"Yes," she said, getting up, and fishing out her wallet. "But it is my round."

* * *

Schmeil watched the night sky as Tony came up behind him.

"Ziva's wondering where you've gone," Tony said, as he stood next to Schmiel. The height difference noticeable.

"She is used to my wanderings," Schmeil said. He patted the space on the bench. "Sit."

"Are you okay?" Tony asked. There was a heaviness in the older mans expression.

"Okay?" Schmeil said, a smile erupting over his face. "I am overjoyed. My Ziva has found love. She is so happy. I do not think I have ever seen her smile so much, not even as a child."

Tony imagined Ziva a smiley child with wild curls. Would their children look as cute?

"Yeah," Tony said. "She's really happy, we're really happy."

"In truth, she has been all smiles for months now," Schmeil said. "I could feel them even through the telephone."

Tony nodded. Schmeil told no lies.

"I am very proud of her," Schmeil said, beaming. "Of both of you."

"She's amazing," Tony said, as he looked through the window, to see Ziva and his father smiling. "I just hang on her coattails."

"No," Schmeil whispered. "You are both doing so well."

Tony nodded, as he watched Ziva place a hand on Senior's shoulder, and walked toward the bar.

"We try," Tony whispered.

"I have been thinking about Rivka often during this trip," Schmeil said, after a quiet moment.

Tony nodded. Waiting for more.

"She would have loved all of this," Schmeil continued. "She always wanted to go to Italy, and she would have loved all of history. She would have loved everything."

"Even me?" Tony joked.

"She would," Schmeil replied, nodding with certainty. "She would have liked how different you and Eli were."

Tony swallowed thickly.

"Rivka, was so afraid that Ziva would end up like him," Schmeil continued. His eyes getting glassy. "Even when Ziva was a child, Rivka could see how Ziva would idolise him, and how he would just leave her. She was so afraid Ziva would end up like him, or marry a man like him."

"She hasn't," Tony said, even though Eli's clutches went beyond the grave.

"For a while, it seemed like she would," Schmeil admitted, running his hand under his nose. "After Rivka was killed, she was so angry, and then we lost Tali so soon afterwards. I really worried that Ziva was lost too."

Tony swallowed thickly. He knew parts of this tale, from Ziva's point of view. She had distanced herself from Schmeil, not wanting to upset him, and also not wanting his judgement. Ziva and Schmeil had reconnected after Ziva had come back from that summer, with Ziva wanting a connection to Israel that was not her father.

"She got so caught up in her father's world," Schmeil said softly. "It seemed like Rivka's words had been a prophecy. A prophecy that came so close to being true."

Tony nodded. The conversation was heavy, making him gasp for air.

"I mourned for Ziva, especially when we were told that she was lost for good," Schmeil whispered. His eyes were watery. Tony knew what Schmeil was talking about, that summer. "I grieved for her. I grieved for the life she never got to live. I grieved for Rivka and her prophecy."

"She came back though," Tony said.

"She did," Schmeil said, as a fat gloopy tear fell down his face. "I am not a man who believes in miracles, but that day when she called, I came close."

Tony swallowed thickly. There was so much pain, with so much joy.

"Ziva told me, that you two got closer again, after that," Tony said.

"We did," Schmeil said with a smile. "I am sorry, I did not want to be the rain cloud on such a sunny day."

"Is that why you came outside?" Tony asked.

"Yes," Schmeil admitted, with a heavy sigh. "When you have lost so much, it is hard not to think of these things, even when there is so much joy."

There would be a lot of empty seats at the wedding. You do not get over the loss of someone, you only get through, Ziva had said once upon a time.

"I am so very happy for both of you," Schmeil said, turning to Tony, and flashing a teary smile. "I am looking forward to your wedding, I have been told that DiNozzo's know how to party."

Tony nodded. His own eyes getting glassy. The past would not stop them from having an amazing future.

Ziva appeared in the doorway, leaning on the terrace. Her face flushed after the last glass of wine.

"My Ziva," Schmeil said, as he offered out his hand. Ziva moved toward him.

Tony got up, and squeezed Ziva's hand as he walked past, waving at his father through the window. The old man should not be left alone.

Ziva sat down next to Schmeil, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. The cool evening air hitting her.

"How much did you hear?" Schmeil asked, in Hebrew.

"I have been thinking about them too," Ziva admitted, slipping into Hebrew. Half-answering Schmeil's question. "It is hard not too, even with such celebration."

There was so much joy, in the these last hours, but the ghosts had stepped out from the darkness as the sun faded away.

"Your mother would be proud of you," Schmeil said. Ziva's own eyes sprigged with tears. "So proud."

"I wish she could be here," Ziva said softly. "I wish she and I could bicker about dresses and place settings. I wish that she could tell me to hurry up and give her grandchildren."

Schmeil laughed. Ziva laughed too. Both picturing Rivka, older than she ever got to be, with grey hair and bossing Ziva around. Rivka and her wild opinions

"She would have done that," Schmeil said, remembering Rivka and her opinions. "Are you and Tony are talking about children?"

"Tony and I, are going to wait until I am done with my degree," Ziva said. "Though if the universe has other plans, we will welcome them."

"She would have liked that," Schmeil said.

Both knew that Rivka mourned for that masters degree she never started. Rivka was trapped in domestic drudgery, with a husband that was never home.

"I wish I could have called Tali, when Tony proposed," Ziva said, as a tear ran down her face. "She probably would have squealed down the phone, not caring that it hurt her voice."

Schmeil laughed, their shared imagination painted such a vivid picture. Tali had always been so excitable. Ziva joined him in the laughter. It tasted so sweet.

"I am glad you are here to celebrate with us," Ziva said, swallowing thickly. "I am also glad for this. For having a moment to think about who were a missing. I have not always allowed myself that."

Ziva smiled. Schmeil smiled. Teary smiles.

"But, it must only be a moment," Schmeil declared. "You and Tony have too much living to do."

Tony and Senior waved from inside the bar, urging them back inside. Ziva and Schmeil waved back.

"Yes," Ziva declared. "We all do."

"We should get back to the party," Schmeil declared. "I need to make a toast."

"There have been a lot of toasts," Ziva replied. She had only noticed the light-headedness when she stepped outside.

"But this one is important," Schmeil said, with a huge smile as Ziva offered out his hand to help him up. He stood up, gripping her forearm, as they stood, still for a moment. "We need to toast, to you and Tony, and your future children. And the wonderful life you will lead."

Ziva turned slightly to face Schmeil, a huge full-beam of a smile on her face. Schmeil smiled back.

With that they started to walk. One foot in front of the other. Walking back to the land of the living, with the ghosts looking on.

 **A/N:**

I don't own a thing.

Thanks so much for all the love, reviews and faves, I'll get to replying to those soon. I'm glad everyone enjoyed the proposal.

To those, who are celebrating Happy Easter, or Happy Passover. You can thank the Easter break for the extra update.


	20. All Grown Up

"Another round," Tony said to Ziva and Abby, as Abby finished her beer, and placed the empty bottle on the table, in the dingy little bar.

It was the last few days of July, and too hot to be drinking anything other than cold beer. Life was plodding along. The summer was warm. McGee had returned from Dubai with the reddest sunburn Tony had ever seen. Ellie had returned from her trip to the Bahamas, even more unsure of her marriage. Leyla was hosting an Eid party within in the next week, to which Tony, Ziva and most of their little gang were invited. Tony still had not spoken to Gibbs, about wanting to move on, which was leading to an awkwardness between the two of them.

"Yes please, kind sir," Abby said. Ziva looked up at him, with a smile, and reached for her wallet.

"It's my turn," Ziva said, but Tony shook his head, and rifled around in her bag, for his wallet. Pulling it out triamputly.

"I've got this," he said, with his hand on her thigh. "Same again."

The two ladies nodded.

"Fries too," Ziva said. Her face breaking out into a smile. "Please."

He nodded, walking toward the bar, just as a huge group swooped in front of him. Tony frowned as he joined the back of the line.

"It's so weird seeing you two like this," Abby said, as she fiddled with the beer label, she'd pulled off.

"Like what?" Ziva asked.

"So domestic," Abby said, "It's so cute. I mean I know you guys were really close, when you worked together. But now, that you are actually together, it's next level."

Ziva's fiddled with her engagement ring. How natural it felt on her finger after a few short weeks.

"The last year has been good," Ziva said, smiling at her friend. "Like really good."

"It feels like everyone's growing up," Abby said, as she looked across to the bar. Tony was stuck behind a big group, who were dithering with their orders. "You and Tony are getting married. McGee's going to ask Delilah to move in with him. Jimmy and Breena are having a baby. I wish Jimmy had told us, what was going on. We could have supported him. I mean I supposed it all worked out in the end, but still."

Jimmy and Breena, had announced their pregnancy with a photograph of the two of them standing in front of the an oven. The caption had read _After spending a lot of dough, we finally have a bun in the oven._ Eventually, after a million questions, Jimmy had revealed to everyone that he and Breena had struggled to get pregnant.

"Yes," Ziva said, trying not to let Abby know, that she had known about Jimmy and Breena's struggles. "Are you okay with all of this?"

"I'm happy," Abby said, with a huge grin. "Jimmy and Breena will have such a cute little baby. I've been telling Tony, that he should propose to you for months. I know I wasn't super nice to Delilah at the beginning, but her and Timmy are made for each other. They just get each other, and they both deserve that."

"Okay," Ziva said. Willing to let the conversation die out. Maybe Abby was genuinely happy for all her friends, and Ziva was the one acting weird. "I'm glad."

"I think know what you're trying to ask," Abby said. "Your trying to ask how I feel about all of this, knowing that all of you are having such big changes, and my life is still the same old boring thing. I get this alot from the smuggly coupled, not that I don't love the two of you together, but it's a weird dynamic right, when two friends hook up, and there is someone who knows both of you, and she's still single. It's not how it works out in the movies."

"Abby, your life is hardly boring," Ziva said.

"No," Abby said with a smile. "It's really not. In fact I really love my life. It doesn't look like the traditional life, but it's good. I have friends. I have my work. I have my volunteering. I might still meet someone who doesn't try to cage me in, but its super unlikely I'll have kids."

"Well, you should never say never," Ziva said. "That is the saying, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm already forty," Abby said, still smiling. "Truth is, I'm kinda glad I don't have kids. Yeah, I love kids, and yeah if I'd ended up with one, I would have loved it, and made sure it was happy and safe, but that would have meant sacrifices for me. My life would look very different now."

"Yes," Ziva said. "I did not mean what I said in a bad way."

"It's probably the beer," Abby said, offering her friend a smile. "And I get it, the white picket fence is what we're all supposed to aspire too, but I love my life. When I was growing up, all I wanted to do was play in the junkyard, my brother was more into dolls than me. I mean him playing with dolls, is probably why he is such a good father. You know he stayed home with my niece, when she was born. That was not the cool thing to do in New Orleans in 2004. Anyway, my true love has always been science. I thought the best I could aspire too, was being a science teacher, who was bit like Miss Frizzle."

Ziva raised her eyebrows at the reference, but parked the question. She'd ask Tony later.

"I wanted to do the science." Abby continued. "I got to college, I threw myself into the science. I was the first person in my family to go to a four-year college. Did you know that?"

"No, I did not," Ziva said. There was so much she did not know about her friend. So much she wanted to learn.

"I paid my own way too," Abby said. "I didn't just go to college, I got my PhD. I've been published in multiple journals. I transformed the lab at NCIS. Ducky, could tell you horror stories of what it was like before, it was a mess. Bungled forensics back in the day, let more than a few people off. Those high turnaround times it has now, are all because of my hard work."

"I know Abby," Ziva said softly. "I have always admired the work you did."

Abby smiled, a full beam of a smile. This meant more than anything.

"I guess, I'm just saying there are lots of different ways to be a grown-up," Abby said, her thoughts running as quickly as her speech. "The little slice of suburbia and 2.5 kids, is just not for me, and I wish that like society as a whole recognised that more. Me and Ducky talk about that sometimes, but it's still different, because men are allowed to be single and childfree. I mean, yeah this is not where I saw myself at forty, but I really love it."

"This is not where I saw myself either," Ziva admitted. Tony was no closer to the front of the queue, and was making faces behind the fellow patrons backs. "But that is life, it does not turn out how we expect it."

"No," Abby said with a smile. "That's what's so great about it."

"Yes," Ziva said. "I do like where my life is at the moment."

Ziva heard her own words, and wondered if she had ever felt so content with her life before.

"Good, I'm so happy to see you and Tony so happy," Abby said, with a huge smile, which started to fade. "I know Tony's struggling with the career side of things at the moment."

"He has told you?" Ziva asked.

They had been talking about this for months. There was a Fletc role becoming available, sooner than they anticipated as Reynolds was retiring early, because his wife was sick. Tony had an interview in the first full week of August, with the role expected to start before the winter holidays. She was still trying to gently encourage him to talk to Gibbs.

"Sorta," Abby replied. "I could tell he wasn't happy. He was so restless. I asked him about it. He told me how he wants a better work-life balance, and I know there might be opportunities at Fletc."

"Yes," Ziva replied. Letting out a breath. "I am glad he is talking about it more. He has been worried how everyone would take it."

"I mean, I think we are all getting a bit restless," Abby admitted. "But, Tony'll be the next one to jump off the boat. He has been there the longest. It kinda makes sense."

Ziva had been last one on, first one out. Abby's logic did not compute in Ziva's head.

"What?" Ziva asked. Had she been the one to break up the band.

"I mean we all love Gibbs, and we all love working there, but you can't do eighteen hour days, six days a week, without it rubbing, right?" Abby asked. "I mean you totally know. There's a reason that before Tony, agents didn't stay for longer than five years. I mean Gibbs' was tougher then, but still even Tony has to move on eventually."

Abby was being very un-Abby about this. Times were changing.

"I did not leave because of the hours," Ziva said. She left to make her own choices. To jump out of the fire before it burnt her. "Though I do not think I ever realised how much time we spent at work."

Even now, with her full-time course load, part-time job, and volunteer hours, Ziva had so much more time. At first the sheer amount of spare time she had, had been overwhelming. Guilt had brewed for a while, especially in the early months before they hired Ellie. Now, a year down the line, Ziva was fully adjusted to this slower pace of life.

"And, that was what was great. We never realised how much time we spent there," Abby continued. "Maybe, we all needed that. Something to fill our lives with. I mean we all kinda had a lot going on. Being able to dive right into work, helped right?"

"I suppose," Ziva said. Tony had told her once, that he used to use his job as an excuse when his personal relationships got too hard, and didn't want that to be the way of things moving forward.

"I was a bit confused by you leaving, at first," Abby admitted. Alcohol had prompted an honesty, Ziva was glad to have. "But, I get it now. I mean I think I do. I know, that your Dad had something to do with it too."

"There were a lot of reasons," Ziva said. "A lot of things that had been bubbling away. Those things were too much to ignore. I do wish, I could have done things a little differently, and given more notice."

Parts of her were envious of Tony, for making a calculated and slow move, with room to say goodbye to the job.

"Do you miss it?" Abby asked.

"Parts yes," Ziva said, running her hand through her hair. "I miss the feeling when we closed a case. I miss the routine of it all. I miss seeing all of you almost everyday."

"Yeah," Abby said, her voice quieting. "It's the people, isn't it? That's what makes you stick around."

"Are you looking to leave NCIS?" Ziva asked, feeling like she was the jenga piece that had been pulled out of the tower, and toppled the whole thing down. She was breaking up the gang. First her, then Tony, and now Abby.

"I don't think, I ever will. Not fully," Abby said. "I'm like Ducky, I'm a part of the furniture. It's a part of me too, I feel it in my bones."

"Ducky, has gone part time now, right?" Ziva asked. She knew this of course, as the two of them sometimes enjoyed tea and walks before Ziva's lunchtime classes. Ducky was particularly interested in Ziva's studies. "I suppose with his health."

"Yeah," Abby said. "He was never going to fully retire, was he?"

"No," Ziva said, with a half laugh. "He seemed better when I saw him last."

"I had a meeting with Vance the other week," Abby said, after a bit of quiet. "I asked him for an assistant. He's been pestering me about one for years. I mean he wasn't here for the Chip mess, so he doesn't really get why I wasn't into it."

Ziva cast her mind back. The Chip mess, had been in her first year there. Almost a decade ago. How time had flown.

"That was a tough year," she said. Didn't all of their years together, have tough points? "What has changed, for you to want an assistant?"

"Oh yeah," Abby said. "I told Vance, was that my issue is that I've never been able to vet my assistants. It's not just knowing whether they are good at their job, but also seeing how they jibe. My lab is my baby, and I want her to be in the best hands."

"So, did Leon take that on board?" Ziva asked, as Tony finally appeared with three beers, and a number for the fries. He placed a kiss on Ziva's cheek, and slid his wallet into her bag.

"Yeah," Abby said. "He was really enthusiastic. He said, that I can work with HR, and be part of the interviewing process. I told him, I really want someone with only minimum experience, so I can mould them. He also wanted to know if I'd be keen on organising a summer internship program, so maybe in a few years, I'll have a whole group of future assistants for a few weeks each summer. I know it'll be weird working with someone again, but I'll be able to set boundaries. They'll know how to treat Major Mass Spec with the respect he deserves."

"They'll know how many caf-pows to bring you to get you in a good mood," Tony interrupted. Earning a swat form Ziva.

"That all sounds really good," Ziva said, "I am excited for you."

Everything was changing. Good changes.

"I'm excited too," Abby said, bouncing on her chair. "It means I'll have so much more freedom. I won't have to turn down so many out-of-state conferences. I get asked to consult by different labs, so maybe I could turn that into a side thing. I could even do some guest lectures like Ducky does. For a while, I thought that leaving the lab was a bad thing, like I was letting people down. But this, will mean I can make it better."

"That really does sound good, Abs," Tony said, as he took a sip from his beer. Probably his last one for the night, he couldn't drink like he used too.

"I mean hopefully, it means I can do other things too," Abby continued. "I have friends who live far away, that I want to visit more often. I want to get a dog."

"I thought your landlord didn't like pets," Ziva said.

"I'll move, if it means I can have a dog," Abby answered. "Who knows maybe I'll buy a place of my own. I could probably afford it."

"That is exciting," Ziva said. She was overjoyed for her friend.

"Just don't be a stranger," Tony said.

"You're the one who's running off to Fletc," Abby said, with a playful smile.

"That's just a possibility, at this stage," Tony said. It was a strong possibility, but he was not ready to say that yet. "But, I'm just trying to say we'll need you around. We need four people to hold up the Chuppah at the wedding."

Abby's eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together. Her pigtails bouncing.

"Hold your ponies, Abby," Ziva said. "The wedding is probably over a year away. We have not done any serious planning. We are enjoying just being engaged."

Since returning from Italy, neither of them had made a serious effort to look into wedding stuff. Tony had slipped a bridal magazine into their grocery shopping. Ziva had shown him a few pictures of different Chuppah designs. Nothing was booked. The date remained unset. Senior, Schmeil and now Abby kept pushing for information the couple did not have. Slow and steady, the couple had decided.

"It's horses," Tony said, with his trademark grin. "We should cut you off, your English gets worse with each round. I'll be the one giving the taxi driver directions home."

"Ssh," Ziva said.

"And our kids will need their Doda Abby in their lives," Tony said. Ziva smiled at the Hebrew word for Aunt, she hadn't taught him that one.

"Are you two looking to make Baby Palmer a playmate?" Abby asked, buzzing with excitement. "You know that would explain why you two are running up the rungs on the relationship ladder, so quickly. You only moved in together four months ago, and you're already engaged. You know I can help you test for ovulation."

"Not right now obviously," Tony said, as Ziva took a swill of her beer. "But, in the next few years, we'll definitely be getting onto some baby making."

"I would like to graduate from college first," Ziva said, as she shot him a look. "But, Tony is right. Even if, we are not all working together anymore, we are still close, and we both hope that remains, for many years."

They had visions of lazy family dinners, and being there for the good moments and the not so good.

"Of course it will, guys," Abby said, as she held out her arms for a hug. Both Tony and Ziva settled into the embrace. "You two will be dancing at my ninetieth birthday party, with your grandkids in tow."

"That is a nice picture," Ziva said, as the fries arrived, and the hug broke. Ziva reached into the bowl and took a fry, dipping it into the sauce.

"It is," Tony agreed, as he caught her gaze. Abby looked at the both with a huge smile on her face.

The future looked bright.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

I didn't intend to have two chapters our dynamic duo drinking in bars back to back, but there was initially a chapter between these two, but it didn't work out. There will probably be around four more chapters, including an epilogue.

While, I can't promise anything, and my schedule is a bit busy at the moment, would anyone be interested in further adventures with these two? Obviously, we're well past the point of this fic/series being even related to cannon, and it would pretty much be the Tony and Ziva show (maybe plus little ones - we'll see). Please let me know.

Also, this chapter was important to me on a personal level, and was born out of a conversation with my new work best bud, at the pub (we're in Australia, it's how people socialise here). We're both the leftovers in our other friendship groups, and while we love our lives and have fabulous adventures, it's a weird dynamic, especially for her as she is a little older and a lot of her friends have kids. Hence, Abby's words. Also, if anyone is looking for a book that really explores this _All Grown Up_ by Jami Attenberg is the one. Hence, the name of this chapter.

Thanks again for all the reviews, faves and loves. I owe a ton of replies. Thanks for being so patient.


	21. No Secrets

Tony rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, swatting away the gloopy sweat that had accumulated there. He wanted this humid summer to end, or rather he wanted to have a spare moment to enjoy the warm weather, before the North East descended into polar vortex again.

He gently pushed on the door, knowing it was after midnight, and knowing Ziva who now kept bankers hours was most likely asleep. Even though she no longer had to tend to late night calls or fear for her safety, she remained a light sleeper. Perhaps she always would, so much of the trainings of her past had been undone, but some just ran too deep.

He ran his hand over his face. He wore the exhaustion of the case like an extra layer of clothing. He was sweltering under it all. Every case, felt like more weight on his shoulders. Like Atlas he carried the weight of the world.

The door opened, and Tony was greeted by the buzz and blueish light of the television. A blob was on the couch. He watched for signs of life, expecting to be greeted by a snore. Ziva was usually more disciplined at going to bed before midnight, maybe his bad habits were rubbing off.

Instead Ziva shuffled slightly on the sofa, loose curls toppling over her shoulders.

"I made a plate for you," she whispered, her eyes moving from the television to greet him.

The low-murmur of the television, played a corny low-budget advertisement. The ones that you only saw at such a late hour. Creepy men sold cars. Stay at home mothers tried to sell weird mops to get out of debt.

"Do you want me to fix you something to?" he asked making a beeline for the compact kitchen. Noticing the dishes on the draining board, promising a delicious meal.

His stomach was for the moment, his main concern, lunch had been nearly twelve hours ago, and dinner had been a too-healthy protein bar, begged from Ellie, as it turned out they had the wrong guy in interrogation. The case had been a hell of a ride, and the rides weren't as fun anymore.

"No," she said, slumping back into the couch. A throw pillow on her lap.

He stood in front of the fridge, found a can of beer he'd been hiding for a case just like this, and a plate on top of the other. He peeled back the plate, revealing some sort of eggplant dish, with a ton of vegetables. After determining dinner consisted of nothing that could kill him if not heated. His stomach growled, angrily.

His gut ached, a low ache, a storm was brewing, and Ziva was caught in it.

"You sure?" he asked, fishing out cutlery from the drawer. An extra fork in case Ziva, wanted a midnight snack.

"Water, maybe," she said, her voice distant.

He found a glass and poured some water from the bottle kept in the side of the fridge.

He carried the plate, and the drinks, in a clumsy sort of waddle. Waiting tables had not been one of the jobs he held during college.

"You know once upon a time, you didn't even own a television," Tony said, as he started the awkward dance of unloading the plate and drinks, handing the water to her.

"That was before I agreed to marry an American who loves his television more than me," Ziva said, as she took the plate from him, and he sat down, kicking his shoes off. She hated when he did that.

"Not more," he said, between greedy mouthfuls. "Maybe equally."

Ziva offered him a half smile. He had been hoping for a laugh. The seas were choppy tonight.

"This is late for you," he said, placing the plate on the table so he could open the beer.

"I wanted to wait up for you," she said, darting her eyes away from him to television.

It was playing some sort of house buying show. An eager young couple, were about to get mortgaged up to their eyeballs for a house that was way to big for them.

"I probably would have woken you up, coming home anyway," he said,spilling some tomato sauce on his shirt. "No need to wait up."

He had only sent a text about coming home a couple of hours ago, and that was before, he had gotten caught in a random breath test, heading home.

"That is true," she muttered. He watched as she swallowed thickly. "I could not sleep, and I knew you would be home soon, so I waited."

He nodded. The previous weekend, the nightmares had surface, making sleep a futile endeavor. The worst part, Tony had decided, was when Ziva woke from them, panting and scared, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop them, and little that would help her.

"Did you have another one?" he asked.

August was the hardest month, he learnt. Something always triggered the memories in August. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe, it was the smell of cigarettes that seemed to waft through the air, from the local park. Past and present got spun together like summer salads.

"No," she said, shaking her head for emphasis, loosening curls. "I just could not sleep."

He studied her face, she had black circles around her eyes. And a heaviness. Her brain was playing the greatest trick of all, overriding her exhausted body. Frustration stirred in her, coming to the boil.

"Everything okay with school?" he asked, as he took another bite of dinner. Delicious as usual.

"Yes," Ziva said. "Everything is fine."

He suspected so. School was something she had taken to well, despite her fears that being so far removed from the classroom.

"If its the wedding planning," he begun. Wanting to fix this so bad. "Just tell me, I'll pitch in more."

She pressed her hand into the pillow on her lap. He frowned, not expecting that to be the answer.

"It is not the wedding planning so much," she admitted. Her mouth stayed frozen for a second, more thoughts forming. "I was never the girl who dreamed of a big wedding."

"I'll help more," he said, taking her hand in his. "We're doing this together."

"I have been thinking about those who will not be there," Ziva continued. He rubbed his finger on her knuckle. "I keep thinking how much of a fuss my mother would have made. She would have been flitting around, talking about place settings and guest lists. Her and Aunt Nettie would have been an unstoppable force."

He wondered what his mother would have made of all of this. He could not remember enough of her to determine if she was a big wedding kind of lady. He was envious of the fact, Ziva had that sort of knowledge of her mother, and that feeling made him feel sick.

"I also feel guilty for being relieved that I do not have a mother-in-law, who is doing all the things that I would want a mother to be doing." Ziva continued.

He coughed. Ziva's honesty stung. Still, like disinfectant on a cut, it was needed. They promised each other such bittersweet honesty.

"I am sure I would have loved your mother," she continued, her voice trying to soothe, realising the sting of her words. "Just as I love your father."

"You love my Dad," he asked, picking up the beer and taking a long swig. Sometimes, loving his Dad felt like a duty, how someone could voluntarily choose to love him, was amazing to Tony.

"Of course," she said. She had so much love to give, even after everything that was taken.

"Is it hard, with him being around so much?" he asked, wondering if she was missing Eli too. "I know your Dad wouldn't have been like Spencer Tracy or even Steve Martin in Father of the Bride, but still I know this stuff usually means something to daughters."

He tried to picture Eli David as a fumbling Dad. It would have been less Father of the Bride, and more Godfather.

"I like to think my father would have been happy for us," Ziva said softly. "I think about him sometimes. But, these last few weeks, I have been unable to shake the thought of going dress shopping with my mother. It is so silly, the two of us going dress shopping together would have ended with her in tears. We never saw eye to eye on fashion."

He sucked a deep breath in. There was no real way to make this better. The plan was for Ziva, Abby and a now less pukey Breena to go dress shopping together. Breena as she had the actual expertise in buying a wedding dress, and Abby because of her pure enthusiasm. Still, that would never change who would not be there. There would be so many empty seats at the wedding.

"These feelings will pass," she said, with a determined look on her face. "Our wedding will be wonderful."

"I know," he said, squeezing her hands tightly. "The other day, Abby and I were talking about what Kate would have made of old Tony DiNozzo finally settling down."

Ziva froze. Guilt, usually plugged up, flowed freely. Ari killed Kate, ran through her head like an unnecessary news bulletin. That guilt would never lift. It could be dulled, but never silenced. Some burdens were carried for life.

"I imagine there would be quite a few very surprised women," Ziva said, taking a leaf out of his book, and trying to diffuse the situation with a joke.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm sure most of 'em would be happy for us."

"Yes," she replied.

They settled into quiet. The advertisements stopped and the young couple from earlier were looking at a huge house, in one of the states that didn't have a real winter.

"That place is huge," he murmured, taking another swig of beer. "Ginormous."

"Yes," Ziva said.

"No, its like actually ridiculous," he uttered, as the number of square feet flashed up on the screen. The place had five bathrooms, but only four bedrooms. The McMansion had three different sitting areas, all clumped quite close together on the lower floor. It made no sense.

"Bigger is better," Ziva said. "That is how it is in America, no?"

"'Spose so," he said. Everything looked glacial compared to their apartment.

"You would not want to live in a place like that," Ziva asked.

They were idly looking at houses again, having decided to extend the apartment lease by another year, the coming October. They were also going to add Tony to the lease, so they could tag team hasling the landlord about the leaky tap in the bathroom. They had their five year plan, hoping to have a house before the babies came.

"There's no way we could ever afford a place like that," he said. "Even with your inheritance."

Her inheritance was paying for her studies. How glad she was, not to be starting her new career with hundreds and thousands of dollars in debt, like so many of her classmates.

"What sort of house would you like?" she asked.

"Modest," he admitted, oddly thinking of Gibbs little cottage. "I grew up in a big house, I remember I had a nightmare and I couldn't find my Mom. She was on the other side of the house, and couldn't hear me. I was already pretty scared, and that made it worse."

"Modest," Ziva echoed in agreement. "But not too small. Our apartment was bigger than most, and it always felt cramped. I did not like sharing a room with Tali, especially when we were teenagers."

"Yeah, I didn't like sharing rooms at boarding school," he said.

"I would like some room for a garden," she said with a smile. Thinking of the future. "I have always liked plants."

He looked across the lounge, to the massive plant sitting pride of place by the big dining nook window, Ziva tended to that thing like a child.

"Definitely," he murmured. The tiny balcony off the dining nook didn't cut it when it came to outdoor space.

"Let's focus on getting married first," Ziva said. Part of her new life, was taking things slow. She had been too fast and too furious before, and only ended up getting burnt by the fire.

"Of course," he said, as the ads played and Tony decided to get another beer. "I'm gonna get another beer, want one?"

"No," Ziva said.

"Wine?" he asked, Ziva usually preferred wine over beer. He got up from the sofa with a grunt. He was getting old.

"No," Ziva said. He walked toward the kitchen. He heard her take a heavy breath. The storm ha not passed. "I think I have anemia."

"Okay," he said, knowing it wasn't that serious, but wondering what that had to do with alcohol.

"I have not had my period," she said, watching him from the other side of the lounge. "That is usually a symptom."

Tony nodded. The words slowly computing in his head.

"Wait," he said softly, turning to face her. "You're late."

Every other time, he had heard those words, _Tony, I think I'm late_ , usually from some girl he barely loved, fear had rushed over him, and the urge to run had been his only thought. Luckily, every time it had been a false alarm, bad math, or sadly a ploy to continue a failing relationship.

This time however, excitement fluttered in his stomach. His nose over her mouth. Tiny curls. He greeted this with arms wide open. He wanted this. He wanted this badly.

"Yes," she replied. "It usually happens when my iron is low. I am getting a blood test on Monday."

"You could be," he paused, not wanting to actually say the word.

Not wanting to jinx it. Ziva, was so sure, that it would be a hard road for them. Could it really be so easy for them?

"It is extremely unlikely," she declared, obviously reading between his lines.

Still she was abstaining from alcohol. Just in case. A part of her wondered. A small glimmer of hope flickered, but she was careful to try and snuff it, not wanting her heart to break, when reality came crashing down.

"But, it's a possibility right?" he asked, not wanting to be the crazy one.

"Technically, yes," Ziva replied, as he came and sat next to her. "But, I need you to understand it is very unlikely. I am on the pill, I have not had any other symptoms, and we know what we are facing when we decide to have a family."

He wasn't really sure what other symptoms for pregnancy were, beyond throwing up, and gaining weight. Ziva hadn't shown either of those, in fact she seemed to be losing weight, as she always did in the summer as the weather was more to her liking.

"I know," he said. Letting out a heavy breath, like a balloon deflating. He needed to keep his hopes in check.

"Please do not get your hopes up," Ziva said.

"I'm not," he lied. His hopes were already sky high. He knew the chances were slim, but he had always been the wildcard. He and Ziva had always defied the odds.

"I do not want you to be disappointed," she whispered, wrapping her hand in his. "I should not have even told you."

He heard the words, how she meant them. I don't want you to be disappointed in me.

"I'm glad you did," he admitted. Making sure he caught her eyes. "We should tell each other things."

"I know," she replied.

"Whatever happens," he muttered. "We're in this together. I promise."

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Sorry to leave you hanging with this. Anyway, TIVA baby at this point in the journey; yay or nay?

Thanks for all the love. I owe so many review replies.


	22. A Bump In The Road

"Please go to work," Ziva whispered on the Tuesday, when she woke to find Tony bringing a cup of tea into the bedroom.

"I'm sick," he said, offering her a fake cough. He was surprised how easily it had been to call in sick. No residual guilt.

Sick for the second day in a row. Gibbs' gut must be in overdrive, wondering why his loyal St Bernard was skipping school. Not that his head had been in the game, for a while now.

Ziva studied the time on her phone, as she flicked through the pointless notifications. She had slept later than she wanted too, again. She was just so tired.

"I do not like you hovering," Ziva said, as she slowly took a sip of the tea.

"I wanna be there, when you find out," Tony replied. "I told you, we'd face this together."

"That I have anemia," Ziva bit back. "We do not need to find that out together."

A part of her regretted telling him, having watched his excitement build over the weekend. She had tried to be the voice of reason, repeating all the reasons why it was just anemia, and she was a little run down. She could not bear to see his hopes soar, and then watch them fall back to earth, when reality set in.

Still, when she had found herself feeling nauseous while Tony cooked dinner on Sunday, she had started to wonder. She had been on the lookout for other symptoms too. Could it really be so easy for them? Surely, she did not deserve it to be so easy. She had done so many horrible things.

"Yeah," Tony replied, hoping it was the other thing. The thing they were not talking about directly. "I'll head straight to the pharmacy and get the iron supplements."

"I will call you," Ziva said. "The minute I hear back."

"I've already called in," he said. He was so sure, that there was more than anemia going on. "We can spend the day together. Maybe get started on that wedding planning."

Tony had taken the Monday off as well, and spent far too many hours on Pintrest, while Ziva tried to study. Both of them had been distracted, and both of them had been afraid to talk about it. Not wanting to jinx it.

She stopped, sipping the tea, and found herself holding onto the bed. Dizziness. That was new. The anemia must really bad this time.

"Of course, we might have to change some things," he said, studying her face. The coloured had rushed out. "You okay?"

"Dizzy," she muttered, closing her eyes. "It will pass."

He stroked her hand. She took a couple of deep breaths. The spell dissipated as quickly as it had come on.

Her phone buzzed, then let out a shrill ringtone.

"Ziva, speaking," she said slowly, noting the number was from her doctors office.

Tony could only watch from the otherside of the bed, as Ziva spoke slowly and carefully.

"Yes," she said. "What does that mean?" "Oh, okay." "Of course, thank you."

Her eyes got fuller. Glassy. A smile dawned on her face. A huge full smile.

"That was the doctor," Ziva whispered, a tear slipping down her face. "I do have anemia, but that is common at this stage of the pregnancy."

He let out a breath. He'd wished so hard that it had come true. Everything stopped for a moment. A smile crossed his face, reaching up to his ears.

"You're pregnant," he whispered. Not sure if this was really happening. His own eyes getting glassy. "We're going to have a baby."

It was really happening.

"Yes," she said nodding. His arms wrapped around her. Not to tight.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as they pulled apart.

"Yes," she said softly. Still digesting the news. "Maybe. It is such a surprise. I did not think it was really a possibility."

She was so certain falling pregnant, would be an impossible feat. She feared that Tony would grow to resent her, when she could not give him a family.

"Might have to rejig the five year plan a bit," he said, taking her hand. Maybe they would not renew the lease. They might not buy a house, but they should probably rent somewhere larger.

"I did not think it would be this easy," she admitted. "I was told it would be very hard."

 _The delay in treating the infection_ _may impact future fertility,_ her doctor had started, but she had not really listened. Children were a maybe. She was still focusing on each day. Still trying to banish the night terrors, and gain the weight she'd lost. She had always believed she did not deserve children, maybe getting such an infection had only confirmed that universe did not think she deserved children either.

"Well, I've always been the wildcard," he replied. Always beaten the odds.

"The doctor said my HCG levels are on the lower end of where they should be," she whispered, scared to admit the possibility that this might go wrong. "They are going to monitor that."

"Okay," he whispered. "It'll be okay though, right?"

He was begging the universe not to take this away from them.

"Will it?" she asked, as she took another sip of tea. She was so uncertain. "The baby will be born during Spring Semester, I will need to defer a semester, or maybe two."

How would she manage an infant, and her course load? Where would they put the child in the apartment? Questions buzzed in her head.

"We'll manage," he said confidently. He'd make sure they managed. Even if he never slept again.

"How?" she replied. "It is not like I could bring the baby to NCIS, so I can go to class."

"I'll have the desk job by then," he said. He was waiting to hear if he had the second interview for FLETC. "You won't be doing any of this by yourself."

"What about school?" she asked. "I want to finish my degree."

He knew part of the concern was because her mother never started her masters, because she knew Eli David would never be Mr Mom. Rivka David had been trapped in domestic drudgery, watching her brilliance go to waste. Ziva refused to let that be her.

"You will," he said. "I'm not gonna be one of those Dad's who leaves you to it. It'll be Daddy Daycare everyday with me."

"You have this all worked out don't you?" she asked.

"I've been thinking about this a lot, even before you told me you were late," he said, with a slight smile. He'd been imagining Tony and Ziva plus one for a little while now. Those images keeping him sane through long stakeouts, and late nights. "Yeah, things might not be to plan, but we're gonna be fine. Not better than fine. Things are going to be amazing."

Tiny hands. Tiny baby socks. Innocent laughter. It was going to be all theirs.

"You really think so," she asked. Feeling her eyes prick again. Tony had already gotten on the train, and she was standing at the station, not sure what to make of it all. She was so afraid to permit herself happiness. What if all got taken away?

"I know so," he replied.

"You are not scared?" she asked. He once so afraid of children.

"I'm freaking out a little," he admitted. "But I know we'll be fine. We've got a little while to prepare. I'm really excited too."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm excited to see what wacky combination our genetics make. I'm excited to see this little person grow. I'm excited that we'll be able to give Baby Autopsy Gremlin a playmate. Our kid will be way cuter of course."

He was also glad, that someone as dependable as Jimmy would be a few months ahead of him the Daddy journey. He needed a buddy in this.

"Thank you," Ziva whispered.

"For what?" he asked.

"Being so calm," she replied.

"Not usually something I'm known for," he admitted. "And I'm sure I'll have my freakout down the line."

Things were all still very theoretical. Ziva showed so few signs of pregnancy. He suspected his freak out, would come as the due date got closer, and it became a hell of a lot more real.

"Maybe you should go to work," she said, wanting some quiet time to come to terms with it all. "You know now. Gibbs will not be impressed by all this time off."

Gibbs would get it, he hoped, once it all came to light. Family first, the older man had told him once. Two cups.

"I'd be in too much danger of spilling the beans," he admitted, already picturing Abby's excited reaction when this all came out. The goth would probably scream loud enough to set off alarms at NCIS. "Besides, I need to make sure you eat something."

"I'm not hungry," she said. Was this normal, she wondered. There was so much she did not know.

"I'll make you something small," he replied, offering her a concession.

"Let's not tell anyone for a while," Ziva said. "It is still very early days."

So much could still go wrong. Her risk of miscarriage was higher than most, even without her out of whack hormones.

"We'll have to tell them eventually," he said, still buzzing with excitement. "Even McOblivious will notice a baby bump. And even if we managed to hide the whole pregnancy, we won't be able to hide a baby for very long. I've been told they're not the quietest of creatures."

"I mean until it's safe," Ziva said. "The doctor did say my HCG levels were a little low, and with my history."

"That'll fix itself right?" he asked. He hoped so. Would the universe, be as cruel as to take this away from them? "It'll be okay."

"The doctor said they will monitor it," Ziva replied, trying to keep her tone neutral. "I did not prepare for this pregnancy. You are supposed to take all the vitamins before you start trying. I have had alcohol. I have had soft cheese."

He was fairly certain his Mother had smoked and drunk through her pregnancy, and most people did not plan for pregnancy. People had been having babies for milenia without prenatal vitamins. The two of them had survived a hell of a lot, surely their child would be made of hardy stuff.

"It'll be okay," he assured both her and himself. Desperately trying to banish any doubt. This was a happy moment. The universe was not going to inflict suffering on them. Surely not. "What do you want me to make you?"

"Toast, maybe," she offered, still not really hungry, but knowing he wouldn't let up until he fed her. "I should get up."

"No," he said. "I'll bring it to you."

"I can make my own breakfast," she declared, even though it was closer to lunchtime. "I am not delicate."

"No," he said, his voice strained. "Let me doing this for you. Please Ziva, let me take care of you, especially for the next eight months."

He was practically begging to be let in, to be able to help. It made her chest ache.

"Okay," she said letting out a breath. "But do not coddle me."

"I promise," he said. "Do you want some more tea?"

"No," she said. "Water please."

"I read somewhere that peppermint and ginger are good for nausea, I'll buy you some tea today," he said.

She wondered when he had read that, she had only told him about the possibility of pregnancy on Friday night.

"I have not felt that sick," she said. "Not yet."

A memory flashed for a moment. Her and her mother driving to Haifa. Ziva's feet kicking in the car seat she was trapped in. Her mother dramatically pulling over, and throwing up on the side of the road. Then her mother got chubbier over the summer, but still spent a lot of time holding buckets to her mouth. Her father started talking about Ziva having a little brother. That winter between her birthday and Hanukkah a little sister was born, and her mother stopped gagging while cooking dinner.

Would she suffer from constant nausea like her mother did?

"Still, it's good to be prepared right?" he replied.

She nodded. Knowing then, that Tony was going to be insufferable for the next eight months. Breena had told them how ridiculous Jimmy had been, and Ziva knew that once Tony was able to tell people, he and Jimmy would be bouncing off of each others nervous Dad energy.

"Do you want to get married before or after the baby?" she asked, as he made his way out of bed. There were so many decisions that would be made in the next eight months. Big and small.

"Let's not stress ourselves out," he said walking toward the door. "It's all just trimmings. We don't have to make all the decisions at once."

"No," Ziva said, stretching out into the empty space of the newly vacated bed. She had slept for hours, yet she was still so tired. Was this what the next nine months held? Constant exhaustion, before she even had the baby.

The baby. A baby inside of her. An everyday miracle, one she was so sure would never be granted to her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Tired," she admitted. "Very tired."

"Maybe, you'll finally get into naps," he said, as he leant on the bedroom door. "What about emotionally?"

She blinked at his question. Honesty was something they had pledged, as they entered the unchartered waters of a relationship. Still old habits die hard, and she was afraid. Afraid of her feelings. A tiny bit afraid of his reaction. He was so happy. She felt like the riptide, bringing him down as he tried to bob along, the choppy sea that was their life.

"I feel overwhelmed," she said, just as he crossed the threshold. "So much is about to change. What if we are not ready?"

It was not like either of them knew how to do this.

"I don't think anyone is ready for all of this," he offered, stepping back into the room. "Don't worry, by the time Junior makes his or her grand entrance, we'll have all our ducks in a row."

She stopped for a moment, wondering if the thing swimming in her was to be a boy or a girl. Not that it mattered. It only made it seem more real. Would it have her nose or his? Her dark curls, or his fine sandy hair? Would the baby have her gift for languages, or his love of movies? Maybe it would have both.

"It does not feel real yet," she admitted. "I did not think this would happen, not like this."

"You're gonna be an amazing Mom," he said.

 _Mom_. How strange that sounded. Would her American child call her that? _Mommy. Mommy. Mom_.

"You are going to be a fantastic father," she replied. She was absolutely certain of every word she was saying. Even so early in the proceedings he was doing so well.

"I'm not gonna make my Dads mistakes," he said. His voice heavy. "I don't know what I'm gonna be like as a Dad, but I won't be like him."

He wouldn't make her Dad's mistakes either, but he did not need tell her that.

"I know," she replied. He finally walked toward the kitchen. She was surprised as a feeling of calm washed over her, it was all going to be okay.

No, it was going to be better than okay. They were going to have a baby. Things were going to be joyful.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Like I'd leave you hanging.

I will admit in the plan for this fic, Ziva was just supposed to just have anemia. So that does mean this fic will have a few more chapters. I'm sure you won't complain.

Did I play it a tad fast and loose with medicine/pregnancy? Yes. I did do a quick google, but I know its not entirely accurate.

Are we up for more bumps in the road? Yes. It wouldn't be these two without that.

Also, in reply to some of the guest reviews. In this universe I killed Aunt Nettie. Thanks to everyone for all the lovely reviews. It really means a lot.

Next chapter in two weeks.


	23. Everything's Changing

It took nothing more than a shuffle to wake her. She has been a light sleeper for as long as she can remember, waking to her parents nocturnal movements in their apartment. Listening to her mother's sobbing carrying through the hallway, or occasionally her fathers late night rumblings, fighting the monsters in his mind. Her own monsters keep her awake now.

It is not, the memories that wake her now, but the overwhelming nausea that rolled through her body. Waves lapping at the sand. She thought of the beach at Haifa, where she spent her summers.

She sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, hoping to dissipate the nausea. It was nothing more than a distraction. Yet she could not run from this. It is inside of her. The cause of the nausea was a happy one, but still old instincts made her want to run.

"There you are," she heard as she slowly opened her eyes. A warm feeling washed over her, glad to see him. Glad for this normalcy.

Tony stood at the edge of the bed. A huge smile on his face. He was so happy to see her. He had been so happy in general, in the last week. Excitement ran through him like a second pulse.

She opened her mouth, wanting to greet him, but instead a the nausea rose. She swallowed thickly, hoping to stop it, but instead it rose up, burning her throat. She raised her hand to her mouth, hoping to contain it, and tried to sit up.

Tony perhaps sensing what was coming, they had always been so in-sync when they were on the field. He disappeared for a moment, and then appeared with a plastic bowl, procured for this very purpose. The cheap bowl was meant for fruit or perhaps chips for a party, but so far it had only contained her expelled bodily fluids. As soon as the bowl was safely underneath her, Ziva let go.

"Well, that's the first time you've had that reaction to me," Tony said, as he sat down on the bed next to her. Holding the bowl with one hand. "I have a feeling that won't be the last."

She looked up at him weakly. Exhaustion shrouded over her, a heavy blanket. She had never been this weak. Not when she took a bullet, for the red-headed woman who would later become the director, not when she had to be helped out of Salim's dusty cell, and not after Ilan Bodnar crashed into them.

"I guess I should get used to this," he said, still talking. He was afraid of silence, she had known this since their first case together. "I'll probably end up wearing spit-up to work."

She half-smiled for a second, as she thought of him holding a little baby. Rocking said baby, while he paced around the crib. Half of him, half of her, all mixed up to make a whole new person. The idea was basic arithmetic but it felt like magic.

"Good thing, I got that second interview," he said, eyes focused on her. Hand rubbing up her back, perhaps noticing the wave of nausea was rising, before she even felt it herself. "Wouldn't look good in an interrogation-"

The retching drowned out his babbling. The bowl filled once again with warm bile. Her throat burned.

"Have you eaten anything today?" he asked, rubbing her hand, fiddling with her engagement ring.

"Some crackers," she uttered, after a couple of deep breaths. The nausea pittered out into little waves, like there always is before the big one. Her throat aches.

"Okay," he said softly, trying to soothe. "I'll get some more."

It has been just short of a week since they found out, that it wasn't just anemia. In that short time, the so-called morning sickness graduated from a sick feeling, to regular episodes throughout the day a few days ago. Everything seemed to be moving so fast. In those few days, her entire sustenance, has been prenatal vitamins, and plain water crackers, with not so much as a seed in their beige circles. The nutrient value is negligent. Still, she has lived on less.

"This will be over soon," he whispered. Trying to soothe. "That's what it said online."

She had barely digested the news, that they were expecting, when he had downloaded a daddy-to-be app to his phone, hoping the app could guide them in the place of wise grandparents-to-be. How she longed for the wise words, of a council of women who had done this before, mothers, and grandmothers. Instead, she had to settle for the app with its bright colours and comparisons of fetal development and fruit.

He had also spent the weekend looking up rental properties. She wanted a two-bedroom apartment, but he was ready to go full-on house, dreaming of backyards and basements they could turn into playrooms. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that this was the same man who was scared of the Vance tweenagers. So much was changing. Everything was changing. All at once.

"My mother was sick the whole time with Tali," she said, her voice still hoarse, but the nausea calming. For now.

"How do you know that?" he asked. Genuine surprise etched into his face.

"I remember," she said feeling the wave lap closer to the shore. She had a minute or so before, it happened again. "Or at least I think I do."

She thinks of her mother pulled over on the side of the road, hurriedly throwing up into a grocery bag. She thinks of the Passover Seder, where her mother ate nothing but the matzoh. The colour drained out of her, as Ziva uttered the four-questions for the last time, because she would never again by the youngest child at the Seder.

Wisps of memories. That's all she has. Little white froths on the waves of pain. How quickly it all hits the shore, undistinguishable. All just pain.

She remembers, a firm memory this time, of her mother telling another woman of the horrors of pregnancy. Where exactly they were, when this was all happening. The endless elevator in her apartment building perhaps. Or maybe, in that huge shopping mall, the one that got attacked a few years later, walking toward that bookshop her mother liked. Ziva and Tali, making noise and disturbing the adult conversation. _Ima, Ziva's poking me_. _Ima, Tali's being a baby_. _Girls, Ima is trying to talk_.

"Okay," he said. His eyes glassy. He gets jealous sometimes, that she can remember her mother, better than he can remember his. "Maybe, you'll have an easier time than your Mom."

 _Mom. Mommy. Mom_. She could almost hear it. She could picture a tiny mouth, with loose brown curls. Her olive skin mixed with his Northen Italian paleness. Her heritage easily explained by his last name. This is the consequence of coming to America, she has told herself. To the children she may have, Israel will just be another country.

"I thought you read something-" and with that her thought was lost.

The smell of the city wafted past her window. The buzz of the air-conditioner made her head swim, and she is back over the bowl, before she can do anything else.

His hands run circles around her back. A first she resists, years of hard training and threats, have created subconscious reactions. A few deep breaths later, as the room stops spinning, she eases. A warm feeling runs through her. Maybe, it is the distant memory of her mother doing the same too her, as a bug caught from nursery school ran through her system. Maybe, it is the idea of Tony doing this to their own tiny human.

"Come on kid," Tony said, once he was sure the spell had faded. He slowly inched the bowl away, and moved his face closer to her still-flat stomach. "Let's be nice to Mom."

 _Mom_. It bounced around her head. How strange it sounded?

"I want to be called Ima," she said, not noticing her words until she heard them. "I know it is silly."

"It's not silly," he said, a smile dawning over his face. "I mean it makes sense, I know you want to raise the kids Jewish."

She noticed the plural of kids. Perhaps he did not understand the magnitude of the miracle inside of her. He still harbored visions of the picket fence life, with two point five children.

"I do," she said.

Realising then, she had not really thought beyond the pregnancy. For the moment, it was all about managing the nausea, and trying to plan the logistics of finishing her degree. She had not thought of the thousand and one decisions they will have to make, both significant, and not so. This school or this one? Will they introduce their child to the piano, hoping it inherited their musicality, or let it be discovered? What would they name this new creature?

"I do not want you to feel left out," she said after a quiet second.

"I won't be," he said. His hand tentatively on her stomach. Eyes gazing at it. He was so in love. "And to clarify what I said earlier kid, be nice to Ima."

"It cannot hear yet," she said, lightly encouraging his hand away. It was all happening inside of her body, but what did she feel like he was two steps ahead.

"Don't call it an it," he declared. Genuine offence stitched into his features. This was all so real to him. Already.

"We do not know if it is a boy or a girl yet," Ziva clarified. "What else can we call it?"

"The baby," he answered quickly. "We're going to have a baby."

More memories came forward. She thought of Ari's medical books, littered on the kitchen table, as he did one his fly-in fly-out visits, always feeling uncomfortable in Tel Aviv, despite how far away it always felt from all the 'conflict', because for Ari the 'conflict' was always inside. His two halves never made a whole.

Still, she thought of the chapter on embryo development, she and Tali looked at, barley understanding the medical jargon, in their limited English. She remembered the intricate diagram, of a first trimester embryo, and how Tali did not believe it, thinking Ziva was mis-translating the words. It looked like something out of one of Tony's alien movies. _It is not about what it looks like now_ , Ari had said when Tali asked questions later that day, _it is about the promise of what it will become._

"Okay," she said, with a heavy breath. She did not want to fight this. This was already so real for him. What was the point of cutting him down.

"Maybe, when we see it we can come up with a nickname," Tony said. She had an appointment in another week, for the first scan. "Mr and Mrs Autopsy Gremlin call their's the parasite."

Ziva grimaced. Admiring her friends sense of humour, especially considering, how hard it been for them become pregnant.

"I nearly told him," Tony said. Excitement running through him. "It's been really hard to keep this secret."

She looked up at him. Eye's wide.

"We agreed," she started.

"I didn't tell him," he said, quickly, his hand on hers. "I wanted to. He was talking about all of Breena's weird cravings. I was making mental notes. Apparently, Breena really likes tuna melts with pickles, and side of gummy bears."

Ziva made a gagging noise. Even food she had always loved caused this reaction. She had not been this averse to vegetables since her age was measured in single digits.

"I'm sure you'll send me out for some crazy things," he said, with a warm smile. "Jimmy said the second trimester is easier. Breena was pretty sick at first, too."

Maybe, they should tell Breena and Jimmy, if only to get people to share their miseries with. They were having dinner with the two of them soon, maybe they could tell them then. Maybe, she and Breena could trade war stories, and Ziva could learn some tricks for dealing with it all. Maybe, they could actually share some of the joys.

"I missed one of my classes," she uttered. The nausea gone for a few more moments. She wondered how long this would last. "I cannot keep missing class."

Summer school had ended with good results, but the fall semester meant more more classes actually om campus. Getting there was proving to be difficult. She spent so much of her day, trying to keep her food down.

"Maybe, you can cut back," he said softly. "Go part-time this semester."

"No," came her reply. Quick and tinged with anger. Anger underscored by fear. She could not let this be taken away. She had worked so hard. "I need to get as much of my degree out of the way before the baby comes."

She thought of her mother, and the never started masters degree.

"Why?" he asked softly. "What's wrong with taking things slow?"

"There are women in some of my classes who have children," she begun. Thinking of all the complaints she heard, and how tired they always were. "It is very hard for them."

"They don't have me," he told her, with a huge grin. "I know how much you want this degree, and I'm going to support you every step of the way. You're not going to be stuck holding the baby."

"Still," she said, her eyes welling with tears. "I cannot spend my entire time in the library, and leave you holding the baby. I know what it is like not to have a parent around."

She thought of her mother, pacing Tali around the apartment. Tali was a colickly child, always crying Always needing to be held. Her mother would cry as much as Tali in those early days. Holding her slashed-open stomach, she shouldn't have been carrying Tali, but her father was away, and her Aunt Nettie could not keep missing work.

Would Tony be doing the same, trying to soothe a sobbing infant, while she sat in front of the books?

"I do too," he reminded her, unnecessarily. "And you managing study and the baby, isn't going to be like it was with your Dad. The kid will get plenty of Ima time, and plenty of Daddy time. We'll be those over involved parents, that we always wanted, I promise. We'll be able to tell the baby, how amazing their Ima is for raising them and getting her degree."

How did he make it all sound so easy?

"I will see how I go," she offered. Meeting him some of the way.

"I don't want you to wear yourself out," he said, leaning over and picking up the bowl. "And I know you, you'll just keep going. Let me help you for the next few months."

The smell wafted through the bedroom with the movement, as he stood up and walked to the en-suite. She heard the water running.

"Have you told Schmeil yet?" he shouted over the gushing of the water.

She thought about laughing but did not want to aggravate her stomach.

"It is still very early," she replied, moving ever so slowly on the bed. Laying down felt like a good idea. She was so tired. Still, she stayed up, knowing if she laid down, she would be asleep within seconds.

"Yeah, but Schmeil's family," Tony said, appearing back in the bedroom with the clean bowl.

"Does that mean you've told your father?" she asked.

"No," Tony said. "I wanna tell him in person, and he's gone to Monaco."

He'd also paid his rent four days late, but she wasn't going to mention that. Things were so tentative between father and son.

"He will be back in week, no?" she asked, placing the bowl of her lap. The waves were getting stronger again. The sea was choppy tonight.

"Yeah," he said, "Maybe we'll tell him together."

She could already envision Seniors face as they told him the news. How happy he would be? It would be moment of pure joy.

"Maybe," she said softly. Tasting that all too-familiar feeling in her mouth. How she hoped this had passed.

"Why don't we tell Schmeil in the meantime?" he asked. "He's pretty handy with the old Skype."

Schmeil was a little removed from family life. The sole survivor of his family. The last moments he had with his family, had been on the crowded train to death camps. He had never married, and never had children. She had never asked why, at least not directly. She could recall Tali asking their mother once, and her mother fobbing them off. _Not everyone has children, that's what makes them extra special._ She had also read _Kaddish for an Unborn Child_ , and wondered if childlessness was a choice Schmeil had made. Or perhaps one of circumstance, would Schmeil had been branded with the pink triangle as well as the golden star, as he was death marched. So much about her Schmeil was unknown. So many secrets buried deep.

She was prevented from answering by the rising bile. Her throat burned. When would this end?

He sat in front of her, watching as it happened, distress all over him. It was more of false alarm this time. Just gagging and a bit of bile.

"If it's bad tomorrow, I'll call in," he said, rubbing her back. "I can't leave you like this."

How badly he wanted to make this better for her.

"You cannot just avoid Gibbs," Ziva said softly. "You should talk to him before the second interview."

"I know," he said. "I will. I'm not avoiding him, I'm trying to take care of you. He'll get me wanting to take care of my family."

Let me take care of you, he was asking her. Begging her.

"Water," she said taking a breath. "Can you get me some water, please?"

"Do you want me to get some crackers too?" he asked. "Do you think you could keep 'em down?"

"Maybe," she said, not really sure.

He slipped out of the room, a spring in his step. The nausea slipped away, the waves were smaller. Perhaps it was passing for now. Hopefully. She moved her hand to her stomach. Hovering just above her still-flat abdomen, just above her baby. Their baby.

They were going to have a baby.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Yay, for cancelled plans meaning I got to write this.

I have never been pregnant, and don't really have many recent parents in my life, so this chapter might not be as medical accurate as I'd like it to be. However, the girl who sits behind me at work, only found out she was pregnant about a week ago, and we're already stashing crackers in our desks for her. She was trying too, so they found out about this quite early on.

I owe so many review replies, I'm sure you can understand the desire to put out a new chapter first. I will reply soon. I'm aiming for another chapter next week.

Also, how amazing was it to see new Cote pics at the film festival, those twitter pics got my through a difficult work week. She looks stunning as per usual. Hopefully, she is living all of her dreams. (I wish people would stop asking her about NCIS though). That totally helped me write this chapter.

 _Kaddish for an Unborn Child_ by Irme Kertesz, (sometimes translated as Kaddish for the Unborn Child) is a very slim, but dense novel about a male survivour of the Holocaust who said no to having children, because he could not bear to bring them into the world after everything he had seen. It is absolutely haunting. All of his novels are beautiful.

Trust the journey that this fic is going to take our dynamic duo, and their family (chosen and otherwise) on.


	24. Make It Go Away

Sleep was slowly overtaking Tim, as he settled in on his couch. His heavy eyes, made slow calculated blinks. The television buzzed, playing a Netflix show recommended by his sister. He had figured he should try and watch half an episode, so the two of them had something to talk about when he went to visit his Dad on Sunday. Tim and Sarah had always been close, despite their age difference, but their ailing father was creating tension, especially as they had such different experiences of him. Sarah had been granted the unconditional love and acceptance, Tim had always wanted.

The impending hospital visit, was the cherry on top of the icing of a long and difficult week. A Marine had been killed mere weeks after he returned stateside. It had transpired that the Marine's wife had shot him. It had been the type of case, Tony would have enjoyed. However, Tony had taken a call on Wednesday lunch time, telling the person on the other end to stay put, and ran out of the pumpkin-walled squadroom as if it were on fire. Tony hadn't been back since, and when pestered Gibbs told the team that Tony was taking care of his family. Gibbs had been silent to any further investigation. Abby had called and texted Tony and Ziva, but had only received one word answers.

His phone buzzed, jolting him from his dosing state. He picked it up, expecting to see a text from Delilah, as they were currently trying to book in a Skype date. Instead, he found a text from Tony, _you home?_ Tim frowned, ran his hand over his face trying to banish the sleepiness, and texted back, _Yes, why?_

Exactly minute and eight seconds later, there was a knock on McGee's door.

Tim opened the door, to be greeted by Tony, holding a couple of six-packs of beers, and a pizza.

"Hi," McGee said slowly, studying his friend. His eyes were red, and dark rings encircled them. Tony wore devastation over his late summer tan. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I should make it up to you," Tony said, as he presented the pizza to his friend. "I did bail halfway through through case."

McGee took the pizza, remembering he hadn't actually eaten dinner. The pizza was welcome. Still he wondered what had really brought his friend to his door.

"It was the wife," McGee said, as the two of them walked toward McGee's couch.

He waited for Tony to make a wisecrack. _What did I tell you McDetective, it's always the wife._

Nothing came. No joke. This was all very unlike Tony.

"Oh," Tony simply said, as he sat down on the couch with a sigh. Cracking open a beer, and staring blankly at the screen.

"Is everything okay, Tony?" McGee asked, as he too sat down on the couch.

"It will be," Tony replied, his voice flat. "Everything kinda sucks right now, but it will be okay."

A thousand questions darted through McGee's head. What had happened? Gibbs had assured the team, that both Tony and Ziva were fine, no serious illness or devastation had befell them. Still Tony was so sad. Something had happened. Something bad.

"Is Ziva okay?" McGee asked as he watched his friend swill the beer.

Tony flinched.

"She will be," Tony said slowly. His eyes staring into the distance.

A dark thought ping-ponged in McGee's brain, had Tony and Ziva, finally succumbed to all the pressure they had put on themselves and their relationship. They were already fighting an uphill battle, trying to undo the horrors of their childhoods and the heartbreak the job had caused.

"You two are still getting married right?" McGee asked. Wincing as he spoke, fearing that he would jinx them.

Tony turned to his friend, and shot him a stern look. McGee knew then he had overstepped the line. No words came out. No snarky response. The mere suggestion, had silenced him.

"Sorry," McGee whispered. "It's just."

"I get it," Tony mumurred. His voice still so flat. "I know that ditching halfway through the case, then turning up unannounced is making your McWorrymeter go off, but I came here because I wanted to shoot video game people. Can we just do that?"

McGee swallowed thickly, and his heart breaking for his friends and this unknown tragedy.

"We can do that," McGee assured Tony, as he got up and started shuffling around to find the second controller.

So they sat. Sipping beers, and shooting video game people. Tony drunk the beer as if were water. McGee took a more conservative approach. He always was less of a drinker.

"You don't have to keep letting me win," Tony declared, as he crunched the empty beer can. Was it his third, or his fourth? Tony certainly wasn't counting.

"I'm not," McGee lied. Of course he was letting his friend win. There was so much pain in Tony's eyes. This was the least Tim could do, to try and soothe some of his friends hurt.

"You are," Tony replied, as the speakers echoed with the faux gunshot. It still amazed Tim how quickly they became white noise.

"I'm not," McGee repeated.

"I get it," Tony said. "If things were the other way round, I'd probably do the same thing. That's what friends do right."

McGee nodded. That's what friends do.

"Fine," McGee said. "I'll stop going so easy."

They shot a few more video game people. McGee watched a calendar alert pop up on his phone, from Delilah arranging their Skype date. _This was modern love_ , they had joked last time, knowing this setup was not forever.

"Ziva and I had a miscarriage on Wednesday," Tony said, before letting out a heavy breath.

McGee froze for a second. The words washed over him. The air in the lounge was thick and heavy. Sadness had been unleashed.

"I'm sorry," McGee said, knowing that his words were futile.

"Thanks," Tony said, returning to the game.

"I didn't realise you two were-" McGee paused, unsure what to say next. Planning? Trying?

"It wasn't planned," Tony said, hearing all of McGee's question. McGee noticed Tony's sour reflection in the blue light of the television. "It was a really welcome surprise. Really welcome."

McGee nodded. Lately, he too had found himself thinking about children. Perhaps it started, when he found himself watching a special interest story of a woman with a spinal cord injury, who had become pregnant and had a baby. He had been sitting in front of his Dad's hospital bed, only there to be a comfort to Penny and Sarah. His Dad was in a hazy drug-aided sleep, and McGee had found himself thinking of him and Delilah. Thinking about how he would modify the crib. Thinking about the combination that a dash of him, and a dash of Delilah would make. He hadn't told Delilah about any of this of course, things were still so new, and they weren't even on the same continent at the moment. He didn't want to jump the gun.

Still, the seed had been planted. Maybe, it had been seeing Jimmy a ball of excitement with his impending parenthood. McGee wanted a piece of that pie.

"We only found out a couple of weeks ago," Tony said a couple of seconds later. "Ziva thought she had anemia. It wasn't just anemia."

Tony's behaviour over the last two weeks suddenly made a lot of sense. He listened intently to Jimmy's tales of Breena's pregnancy cravings. He had broken into smiles without warning. His phone conversations with Ziva, had been more frequent, and McGee had often heard Tony ask Ziva, how she was feeling.

"How's Ziva doing?" McGee asked.

Tony swallowed thickly.

"Well she's Ziva," Tony replied, trying to keep his tone neutral. "You know Ziva."

McGee did. She would be soldiering on. Putting a brave face on it all. It broke his heart.

"She blames herself," Tony said, his voice cracking. "She won't listen when I tell her it's not her fault."

McGee nodded, sucking in a deep breath. He couldn't bear to hear about his friends going through so much pain. It made his chest hurt.

"Ziva didn't think it would work out like it did," Tony continued. "Not by accident."

Dark thoughts danced in McGee's head. He knew that whatever had happened to Ziva in Somalia had lasting effects both physically and mentally. It seemed, from the story Tony was half-telling, it might also have affected her fertility.

"She was excited, but she was worried about how we were going to manage. She's worked so hard at school," Tony said, as he held the beer can, talking to it. "She was worried about having to give up school. She didn't want to end up like her Mom."

McGee frowned. He knew very little of Ziva's mother, but now was not the time to ask. Thinking of his own mother, who had never really had a career because of all the moving around, McGee could make an estimated guess.

"Do you think I would have let that happen," Tony continued, anger seeping into his voice. "She wasn't going to be left holding the baby. We would have made it work. I wouldn't have been like my Dad. Or hers."

McGee felt the sting of those words. He had made the same promises to his own potential children.

"I know," McGee said.

"We had started making all these plans," Tony said softly. "Really thinking about things. Ziva was gonna go part time at school. We were gonna get a bigger place. Ziva decided she wanted to be called Ima, not Mom. This was a bit ahead of schedule, but we were so ready."

"I'm sorry Tony," McGee whispered, and wondered if Tony even heard him.

"I have this stupid app of my phone, which compares the baby to fruit," Tony said, his lip quivering. "Why do they even do that, shouldn't they compare a baby to something cooler than fruit."

"I don't know," McGee said, adding unnecessary words to the conversation.

"We nearly at eleven weeks, thats a big as a fig," Tony said. "I didn't even know what a fig looked like. I had to google it."

Neither did Tim.

"We were gonna start telling people," Tony said, a tear slipped down his face. "We were supposed to go to dinner with Mr and Mrs Autopsy Gremlin tonight, we were gonna tell them first. We were so overwhelmed, we needed people to debrief with. We probably would have told you next McUncle. Then Abby, the day before it happened we were talking about how excited Abby would be."

McGee noded. Jimmy and Breena, despite their eccentricities were the most-stable normal people they knew. His heart soared and sunk at the McUncle.

"Ziva had really bad morning sickness," Tony said, swallowing thickly. "Well, it was more like all-day sickness. She was trying to soldier on, I had to beg her to let me take care of her."

"Ziva has always been independent," McGee said euphemistically. It was an understatement, but Tim was at a loss for words.

"We knew this was a possibility," Tony said with a sniffle. "We were higher-risk than most, but I thought that if I kept being optimistic, that it wouldn't happen to us. I'm the wild card, I always beat the odds."

McGee nodded. How many times had Tony got back up, when the world tried to knock him down.

"I don't know, maybe I wanted this too much," Tony said. "Maybe, that's why it happened."

"It's no ones fault, Tony," McGee promised his friend. "Just like what you told Ziva."

Sometimes bad things just happened to good people.

"I know," Tony said unconvincingly. "It still feels like it is, somehow. I know why she thinks its hurt fault. I get it."

McGee took in a deep breath of air.

"Ziva won't let me in," Tony said, as a tear ran down his face. This is what broke him. "These past few days every time I tried to look after her, she told me not to bother that there was nothing to take care of anymore. I know she's really hurting, and there's nothing I can do to fix it."

McGee felt his heart surge, and crack. How much more could his friends suffer?

"I think that's what hurts the most," Tony replied, running his thumb under his eye, to banish the tears. "And that's why I'm here."

"Did you two have a fight?" McGee asked. He knew the answer wouldn't be good.

"Yes," Tony admitted looking down at his beer. "She asked me to stop smothering her. I told her that if she needed space, I'd go. I think she tried to stop me, but I was already gone. I was gonna go to Dad's, he's in Monaco at the moment, and I thought it would be better, if I wasn't alone."

Those words made McGee's chest ache.

"Does Ziva know where you are?" McGee asked, as he reached for his phone. Whatever was going on between Tony and Ziva, she should at least know he was safe.

"Yeah," Tony said, handing his phone to McGee. McGee saw an unread message from Ziva, on the home screen, but didn't read it. Not wanting to invade his friends privacy. "I wouldn't want her to worry."

Ziva had known too many people, who simply never came home. She had also known too many others, who simply did not care about her. Tony did not need to repeat history.

"Are you two gonna be okay?" McGee asked.

He hoped they would be, but wasn't so sure. It was Tony and Ziva, they had to be. They had been through too much, but maybe their combined histories would come crashing down on them.

"I think so," Tony said, looking out to the distance. "It just really hurts right now. I didn't mean to just walk out like that, I just didn't know what else to do."

"I'm glad you're here," McGee said softly. The Tony of old would have hidden away like a wounded animal.

"No you're not, McLongDistance," Tony said, trying to hide the pain with a joke. "You probably had private plans for your quiet time."

McGee grimaced at what Tony was implying. Stil, on the other hand, he was glad for the joke.

"I know you've got a lot going on too," Tony uttered softly. "With your Dad, and everything."

His Dad's impending death didn't seem as pressing as Tony and Ziva's pain.

"Yeah, I do," McGee admitted, feeling his shoulders lighten slightly, as he admitted the weight of everything. "But, honestly I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you reached out. I'm always here if you need someone to shoot video game people with."

"We're getting better at this, aren't we?" Tony declared as he opened another beer.

"At what?" McGee asked.

"You know being grown ups," Tony muttered. "Talking and stuff."

"Yeah," McGee said. "We are."

* * *

A couple of hours later, McGee was standing in his lounge room, watching as Tony slept off the beers. His feet poking out from the end of the sofa bed. No doubt, he and everyone else would be hearing about Tony's bad back for days to come.

He pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone. Half expecting it to go to voicemail. It was getting late.

"'Hi Tim," Ziva said from the other side. Her voice sounded hoarse. He wondered if she had fallen asleep crying.

"Hi Ziva," McGee said. "Did I wake you?"

"Not really," Ziva replied with a sniffle. He imagined she looked as bad as Tony. She was better a hiding things.

"I won't keep you long," he said softly. "I just thought you should know, Tony's asleep on my couch."

"I got his text," Ziva said. "I'm glad he's with you. I would have been worried otherwise. Well, more worried."

"He's staying the night," McGee reported. "He'd had too much to drink."

"Of course," Ziva replied. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"He told me what happened," McGee said, as he stepped away from Tony on the couch, and toward his bedroom.

"Oh," Ziva said letting out a sigh.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know you guys were excited."

"We were," Ziva said, punctuating the sentence with a sniffle. She was crying fresh tears. "But, it was not to be."

"He's sorry for walking out," McGee uttered. "He'll probably tell you that, but if he doesn't, I think you should know."

"I know," Ziva whispered. "I am sorry that he felt he had to leave. I did not mean for that to happen. It's just. Well I just…."

"I'm sure he understands," he whispered, picking up where Ziva's conversation dropped off.

"Thank you for talking with him," Ziva said, with a gulp. "He needed someone to talk to. The past few days have been difficult."

So isolating too, McGee imagined.

"Do you have someone to talk to?" McGee asked.

"I do," Ziva said, with a small sniffle. "Thank you for asking."

He wondered who, but didn't want to pry.

"Maybe, when you're feeling up to it, we can start running again," McGee said softly. "I miss those."

The runs had fallen by the wayside after their summer vacations, and the caseload of August. Now, as September blossomed, and summer started to fade Tim felt the need to lace up his sneakers, before it got too cold again. Not that the cold had ever stopped Ziva.

"I would like that," Ziva replied, the sniffles pittering out. "I have missed the runs too."

"I better let you go," McGee said. "I'll make sure Tony gets home safe tomorrow."

"Thank you," Ziva said. "You are good friend Tim, to both of us."

With that, they said their goodnights.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing, and I don't want to own this after the turn this story has taken.

*ducks as loyal readers throw rotten tomatoes at me*

I know, things were looking sunny for our pair. I know that almost all of the reviews on the chapter before last, were begging me to make the Tiva pregnancy viable.

Truth is, loyal readers I wrote myself into a hole. I tried to plan the next few chapters, and found myself stuck. (I have a long train commute so I spent a couple of hours each day playing with these two in my head). With this tragic turn, I can foresee this ending authentically. This adventure will end joyfully.

This won't break T/Z up, just like everything they will fight this together. They will talk about things.

Please dear readers, trust the journey we are about to go on. The next couple of chapters will be hard, but like I said this will end joyfully.

I will try and get the next chapter out quickly.

P.S: If it helps, writing this chapter made me cry a little. I feel very cruel.


	25. And, I Will Try To Fix You

She was cooking eggs, when he stepped through the door. He was nursing a pounding head, a sore back, and a heavy heart. Her hair pulled into a messy bun, and she was wearing the lounge clothes, she had been in for the past couple of days.

She looked up at him, her nose red, and her eyes surrounded by dark rings. She had not slept well, he deduced. Just like the last few days.

"I'm sorry," he said, before he could say anything else.

Her mouth quivered. He watched as she turned off the eggs, and moved toward him. He moved toward her. They met somewhere in the middle. Between the kitchen counter, and that huge houseplant.

"I am sorry too," she whispered, as she stood in front of him.

God, he loved this woman. He loved her so much it hurt. And, everything hurt so damn much right now.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" he asked, as he wrapped his arms around her.

Her head on his chest, fresh tears soaking his shirt. She had cried so much in these last few days, where were these tears coming from. She could rehydrate the world with all this water.

He pressed his nose into her hair. Rubbing his hand up her back.

They should just stay here, he decided. Nothing else mattered.

"I made you want to leave," she murmured. Her voice vibrated on his chest, which made his chest hurt.

"No," he said, moving slightly, and tugging her chin so that they were facing each other. "I just didn't know what else to do. I shouldn't have walked out."

"I do not blame you," she said. "These last few days, they have been hard."

He could still remember that horrible feeling he had on Wednesday morning, as Ziva rushed off to class. Her nausea suddenly surprisingly manageable. She had been complaining of back aches but the pregnancy apps told them it was just Ziva's body making room for the baby.

Still, he had held her tighter that morning, before she rushed off. Needing to get to campus for eight in the morning. A storm was brewing, but he didn't know who would get caught in its wake.

"Yeah, they have been," he whispered, his voice floating away.

"I made some breakfast," Ziva said, rubbing his back. "We should have some breakfast."

He smelt the eggs. His stomach rumbled as it often did. How could everything be so normal, but so not-normal at the same time?

"You didn't have to," he replied. "I know you're still hurting."

His pain was all emotional. Hers was a double whammy; physical and emotional. It was happening inside of her body.

"I wanted too," Ziva said, her eyes glassy.

She could not give him a baby, but she could at least give him breakfast. An offering to the fertility gods, not that they were listening.

"Let's eat," he said, offering her just the hint of a DiNozzo thousand-watt grin.

He sipped the coffee, and watched as she moved the food around on her plate. She was never a big eater.

"Your eggs will get cold," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand.

"I know," she said. "I am just not hungry."

"I can make you something else," he offered, starting to get up.

"No," she said. She put a mouthful of food in her mouth. They sat in silence. The grey light streamed through the windows. "This will be fine."

"I really hurt me, when you said there was nothing to take care of anymore," Tony said, as the previous days fight flooded both their memories.

"I am sorry," she said softly. "I did not mean it."

"I need you know that I still want to take care of you," Tony said, rubbing her hand. "Til death do us part."

They had not said the vows yet, but they lived them. Already.

She nodded. Tears fell down her face. Her eggs seasoned with fresh salt.

"I know you're blaming yourself," he said, trying not to cry himself. "I need you to know that I don't blame you. I never will."

She nodded. Confirming his suspicion. Self-blame, was a riptide she was caught in.

"It was my fault," she said softly. "I was so concerned about how my studies would be affected, I was not thinking about the joy that lay ahead."

He thought of that phone call, Wednesday lunchtime. Ziva sniffling as she revealed she was bleeding. He had told her to stay where she was, and ran out of the squadroom. He had nearly broken the speed limit to get to her.

He thought of her sitting in the car. Hand over her abdomen. Her face paling as the cramps hit. They were fighting a losing battle.

"One of us has to be the realist," he whispered. "Your realism didn't cause this Ziva. You remember what the doctor said."

 _Sometimes these things just happen_ , the doctor had said as their faces crumpled in the curtained off emergency room cubicle. The college kid in the cubicle next to them, was throwing up a months worth of alcohol. It felt so cruel.

"But, it was my body," she said, "My body is the one that failed."

Her body had been through so much. It ached when it rained. Still, she tried to tame it. To control it.

"It just wasn't meant to be," he whispered. "Not this time."

"I know you are hurting," she replied. "I know you are trying to be strong. You do not need to be strong for me."

He wouldn't call himself the strong one. Not right now.

"I was really excited for a moment there," he said his voice cracking.

He watched as she flinched. She sniffled.

"Me too," she admitted. Her voice small. Barely above a whisper.

"I know it's all gonna suck for a while," he declared. "But it'll get better."

It had too.

"Okay," Ziva said, slowly.

"For a while, I thought that we lost the baby because I wanted it too much," he uttered. His own eyes getting glassy. "I thought I didn't deserve it."

Hearing the words out loud, undid the warped logic he had used to get to that conclusion. Still, the brain was not a logical beast.

"You remember what the doctor said," she replied. Echoing what he had said earlier.

 _Sometimes these things just happen._

"I know," he replied.

Quiet stewed. Ziva took a small bite of her watered down eggs.

"I thought that reminding myself that this was a possibility, would make it easier when it happened," Ziva declared, before taking a sip of tea.

Tony sucked in a breath, which made his chest sting. That was Ziva, always preparing for the worst. How could she not, when so much had been taken.

"It did not," Ziva said. "I know how much you wanted this Tony."

"We both wanted this," he whispered. "Besides, it will happen for us again, down the line."

"What if it doesn't?" she asked. "It was such a fluke in the first place."

His chest ached again. Would the universe be so cruel.

"We'll deal with that," he said, with a determined nod.

That was Ziva, always preparing for the worst. She was conditioned so.

"What if it keeps happening?" she asked. "There is scar tissue."

He could not think of anything more cruel. To have a glimmer of hope, then to have it ripped away.

"We'll deal with that as well," he answered. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together. I won't leave you like that again."

"I do not blame you for walking out," Ziva said. "Things would have just kept escalating."

He nodded. The fight had been so full of pain. Both of them with tears in their eyes. Harsh words had been spoken.

"Still," he said. "I won't do it again."

"I know," Ziva said. "I am glad you went to Tim's, I was worried you would go to your fathers."

"Didn't want to be alone," he said. Repeating what he had told McGee.

 _You are not alone,_ he had told her once upon a time, in her native tongue. As she face another tragedy. One that sent her halfway across the words.

"I know," she said, biting her lip to stop the tears. "I am sorry you felt so alone."

He sniffled in response. They had stopped the bleeding, why did this keep hurting.

"It really helped," he said softly. "Talking to someone. Talking about it."

"We can keep talking about it," Ziva said. "I promise."

"I'd like that," he said. "I know it's just gonna suck for the next few months."

She nodded.

"I think we should tell the others," he whispered.

"There is nothing to tell," she declared. "It is over."

"You got Abby's forty-thousand texts," he uttered softly. "They were worried about us."

"I know," she said. "It just really hurts right now."

"Besides Mr and Mrs Autopsy Gremlin deserve to know why we'll be canceling dinner plans for the near future," Tony said. "They should know it's to do with us, not them."

Breena had posted a picture of her and Jimmy together, in the 'family' group chat Abby had started now that the team were going in their own directions. Breena had been round with pregnancy. The notification had come as Tony was driving them back from the hospital. A cruel coincidence.

"I am trying really hard not to feel envious of them," Ziva admitted. "They worked so hard for their baby."

Baby Palmer was so wanted, and so loved already.

He nodded. He didn't want anything to happen to Jimmy and Breena's baby, he just wanted his and Ziva's baby back. That's how this was supposed to go. They were supposed to be a couple of months behind the perfect Palmers. Their kids would be playmates.

"I just don't think I could face sitting opposite them, right now," he declared. "I feel like such an arsehole."

He didn't know if he could sit opposite them at dinner. Breena glowing with pregnancy. Palmer brimming with excitement. How sick this jealousy made him feel. How guilty.

"This will pass," she whispered. "It has to."

They had face so many things in their near-decade together, but this hurt so much.

"Yeah," he said. Not entirely convinced.

A quiet flowed between them. Everything still hurt, but there was peace.

"I feel guilty," Ziva started, and Tony's ears picked up. His started formulating answers to soothe her guilt. "On Friday, I recieved a email about dropping one of classes. I was relieved that I did not have to do that, I remember thinking that things were going back to normal, but they are not. Are they?"

On the outside they were, but on the inside everything was a mess. Everything hurt.

"Not really," he said.

She nodded at his confirmation.

"I want us to keep talking about this," he said. "I know things are going to be hard, for the next few months."

"Yes," Ziva said. "They are."

Both of them knew about grief, and loss. But this was a new iteration of the same pain. It felt different. To grieve for the idea of something.

"And maybe one day, we can talk about trying again," he whispered.

She flinched. It was too soon, he interpreted.

"Not right now," he promised. "But one day. Soon."

"After the wedding," she said quietly. "I think we should talk about trying again, then."

The sun peeked through grey clouds. They were moving toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Okay," he said. It seemed so far away but so close at the same time.

Quiet slipped between them. Ziva started gathering the plates. He got up to help her. They made small talk, filling the apartment with life again. They talked about McGee had suggested Tony take a shower, before he headed out of the McApartment. The talked about small things, while scraping the half eaten breakfasts off the plates.

"I threw out all those crackers and teas you brought," Ziva declared, as he dunked the plate in the water. "I could not face looking at them."

"Okay," he said, as he put his dishwater soaked hand on her shoulder.

He knew this dance. Ziva desperately trying to assert control over the uncontrollable.

"We do not need them," Ziva said, looking down at the murky dishwater. "Not anymore."

Tony's mind turned to the newly-bookmarked pages on his internet browser. He had been looking at baby monitors with cameras, and car seats that with high safety ratings, he did not need any of that now.

"Yeah," he whispered. His voice cracking.

He wanted this all to stop. For it all to be some kind of bad dream. What he would give for this to be some fear-induced nightmare.

He started drying the plates, as Ziva put them on the draining board. She was slower in her movements. Her body was still processing things.

A knock on the door disturbed them.

"Junior," Senior bellowed from the otherside of the door. Ziva jumped out of her skin. Tony moved to the door, to let his father in.

He was supposed to pick his Dad up from the airport. He hadn't text him about the change of plans. How quickly, he had become just as bad as his Dad.

"What's going on?" Senior asked, as he walked through the apartment door, his suitcase trailing behind. Senior, being Senior did not read the room. He did not notice the sadness in Tony and Ziva's faces. "What was this good news, you texted me about on Monday?"

With that Ziva's face crumpled.

When would this hurt end?

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

I know a lot of you are hurt. I got some very passionate reviews. I appreciate that this an unexpected journey. I wish I was a better writer, who could have written myself out of the hole I got myself in. But alas, here we are. Thank you for all of the reviews. I really appreciate every reader and review.

I understand people ditching the fic. I get it. If it's not floating your boat, go out and find what does. I exit out of fics all the time. I'll miss you, but there are many more fics out there.

To answer some questions from the guest reviews:

The angst won't go on and on. However, things will be revisited. Grief is not a linear journey.

This fic is so out-of-cannon its unreal. This chapter is set autumn 2014, in cannon Tali would have been a few months old.

This will end happily.

The next chapter, will be Gibbs and Tony talking about Tony wanting to leave the team. Future chapters may or may not include; Tony and Ziva talking about wedding venues, Senior and Tony talking about his mother, and Tony cooking a Thanksgiving turkey.

Thanks again dear readers. I know this sucks right now, but there is a light at the end of this tunnel.

I know I'm posting this on mother's day (that wasn't planned I assure you). I also know this deals with real issues, that as many families go through. So, my heart goes out to those, who have suffered infertility, baby or pregnancy loss, and for everyone for whom this day is a tough day.


	26. The End of an Era

Tony felt the creek in the stairs of Gibbs basement. There was a familiarity in all of this. How many times had he walked down these stairs with a heavy heart. How many times had the job threatened to break him.

"Been expectin' you," Gibbs said, looking up from his work bench. Sawdust caught in his hair, and pencil tucked behind his ear. He looked so Gibbs' like, exactly how Tony would describe him to an uninitiated stranger.

Tony nodded. Not surprised. Gibbs always knew everything.

"Guess this conversation has been brewing for a while," Tony said, as he continued to walked toward the bottom on the stairs. "There's been lots of moving parts."

One foot in front of the other. No backing out now, he thought.

"Been waitin' for you," Gibbs drawled, offering a beer can in Tony's direction.

This had been a long time coming.

"Yeah," Tony said, as he took the beer, and opened it. Not taking a sip just yet.

"Don't really see you down here anymore," Gibbs replied.

"I have someone else to talk to now," Tony said softly.

He smiled at the thought of Ziva. Ziva who he could talk to about almost everything. How he hoped to talk to her forever.

"It's good when that happens," came Gibbs' reply. His voice fading out, as memories overcame him.

"Besides, it's different now," Tony said softly.

"Different," Gibbs echoed.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Things have been different for a while."

Since they had come back from Israel. Since Ziva left. Since things got better with his Dad.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly, when things had changed between him and Gibbs, but it there was no doubt that things had changed.

"'Spose they have," Gibbs said. His voice gruff but heavy.

They simply didn't talk anymore. Not like they used too.

"Besides, you've always been Ziva's more than mine," Tony whispered. "Especially now, she's kinda lacking in the relative department. She needs your more."

So was Gibbs with his recent upgrade to fully-fledged orphan. He needed her. They just got each other.

"I'm here for both of ya," Gibbs replied. "Equally."

But differently.

"I'm not really here about that," Tony murmured.

"Yeah," Gibbs said, filling the silence.

"I meant to talk about the Fletc thing earlier," Tony said, as he took a long sip of beer. "We just had a lot going on these past couple of weeks."

The sadness of the past couple of weeks, seeped into his tone. He could still remember that awful car journey home from the hospital, Ziva sniffing and her eyes red raw. Him gripping the steering wheel, and the silence that sat between them.

"How's Ziver?" Gibbs asked.

Tony nodded. Used to this question. He had been back at work for nearly a week, and had told everyone important about what had happened. He could still feel Abby's warm hug, that held on for too long. Even Vance, having heard through the grapevine, had expressed condolences in the elevator. Jimmy too had wrapped him a bear hug. Jimmy had offered him so many nice words, and said that he would understand if Tony and Ziva skipped Jimmy and Breena's baby shower, which was not for a couple of months.

"She's getting there," Tony said softly.

Most of the physical symptoms were gone or at least manageable. Of course, they both knew, that even though the physical bleeding was over. The emotional pain wore on. The emotional pain was stubborn, clinging on, until it destroyed you.

"How you doing?" Gibbs asked, taking another swill of beer.

The honest answer depended on the time of day. It could be good, bad, or downright ugly.

"Getting there," Tony replied.

How many had times had he had this conversation over the last four days. _How's Ziva doing?_ one of their friends would ask, as they digested the news. _Getting there_. Then quiet from their friend. _How are you doing?_ more quiet this time from him. _I'm getting there._

"You two looking after each other?" Gibbs asked.

Tony nodded before answering. Reflecting for a moment.

"We've always had each other's backs," Tony replied.

He had held her when she cried, waiting until the sun had set and the room was dark, before letting the tears fall. She had let him talk, even when he stopped making sense. They both promised they weren't blaming the other person, mostly because each was too busy blaming themself.

"I know," Gibbs said.

"I didn't come here to talk about that," Tony said softly. "Its good to talk about it, though."

He came here to talk about the impending second interview for the Flet-c position. It was one week away. He was trying to keep his nerves under control. Ziva was helping him, by running through possible interview questions.

"Already wrote your recommendation," Gibbs declared, "It was a good one too."

The recommendation letter request had come while Tony was on personal leave. Tony had always suspected Gibbs had known Tony was looking outside but they had never managed to talk about it. Gibbs had sent Tony an email, which surprised Tony for Gibbs use of technology, saying the recommendation was written. That one line, despite having a positive message, had stung, as he read it. The email felt so impersonal.

"Thank you," Tony said.

Thank you was too small a sentiment. He wanted to say more. How could he express his gratitude. They'd shared so much over these past years.

"You're one of the best I got," came Gibbs reply before Tony could say anything else.

"I should've told you earlier," Tony admitted. "I wanted too. Just didn't really know how to explain it."

Gibbs nodded, but only slightly.

"You've been thinking about this for a while," Gibbs said in that typical Gibbs' inflection. Not quite a question. Not quite a statement.

"Yeah," Tony replied, letting out a heavy breath.

"Always thought you and Ziva would do it together," Gibbs muttered.

Tony scoffed.

"We'd have messed that up," he replied. "She'd probably have killed me in my sleep."

He and Ziva had talked about it once. Talking about how the pressure of them both leaving NCIS together would have destroyed their relationship. Both of them needed to go on the journey together. Otherwise it would have ended in tears.

"That's how it works in your movies," Gibbs muttered.

Hero and heroine running off into the sunset for a happy ever after, sounded like just the ticket. Tony knew however, that real life was never so easy.

"This isn't one of my movies," Tony replied. Sometimes he wished life was a movie, but sometimes in the little moments, like when he had his arms around Ziva as they woke up, he was glad it wasn't. Movies never had such small and tender moments.

"I get it, DiNozzo," Gibbs said gruffly.

Gibbs had had a family once, too. A wife and daughter. Red hair clogged his drains. Princess tea parties filled his afternoons, but that was all gone now.

"You do?" Tony asked.

"Ziver asked me that same question," Gibbs declared. "Remember, that time I went to Mexico."

Tony knew this. He and Ziva shared so much. They had spent so many long nights talking about this move, and the future. They wanted to grab it with hands and hearts open.

"Yeah," Tony said softly, "But, my leaving isn't like her leaving."

She had to get out of the fire, before she got burnt. It was not just the job, it was the weight of everything that had come before. Everyone who had been lost.

"It ain't?" came Gibbs' question.

Gibbs could always see right through his crap.

"I thought the job was what I always wanted," Tony started, letting out a sigh. "To be like James Bond, have it all be about fast cars and fast women."

Gibbs scoffed. That was never the reality of the job.

"I thought that the job would be all the mattered," Tony continued. "I made sacrifices for the job, but the job doesn't give back does it?"

Gibbs nodded.

"That's why you have a life outside of it," Gibbs said.

It was Tony's turn to scoff. What life did his boss have, beyond the job? His boat. His bourbon. His boats. The loss of what mattered most, had led him to job, and he was content to stand under the weight of it. To let it collapse on him.

"Never could do that," Tony said with a sigh. "Never could fill the two cups equally."

Gibbs nodded, remembering the conversation from a few Christmases ago. Tony years deep into his mid-life crazy.

"It's hard to find balance," Gibbs uttered, honestly. Not that he'd ever tried.

"Ziva never asked me to do this," Tony started. "I know people are gonna think that. They're gonna think that because she left, that she made me leave, but it's not."

"I know," Gibbs replied.

"She always said she would support me," Tony whispered. "She understands the job and the sacrifices, better than most."

History repeated itself. Ziva had moved from her father's role, to her mothers. They wanted to rewrite the story.

"I know," Gibbs repeated.

"But I don't want that," Tony said. "When I was on the Seahawk, there was this guy who would record himself reading stories to his kid, used to get some of his bunk mates to help out with the voices. I even helped a couple of times. I knew what he was trying to do, trying to be in two places at once, but he really wanted to be reading those stories to his kid."

"You gotta do what you gotta do," Gibbs said heartbreak slipping into his voice. He knew the pain of being so far away. Of missing so much.

"I know," Tony continued. "I wish I could be one of those people who juggle all the balls and make it work, like McFutureDirector and Delilah will be, if the stork comes calling for them."

Gibbs took a long sip of beer, finishing the can. Letting DiNozzo speak.

"I've been thinking about all of this for a while, maybe even before Ziva and I got together. Long before the miscarriage," Tony continued. His voice cracking as he said miscarriage. Those wounds were still so fresh "I want to be there like my Dad never was, and do all the boring stuff. I wanna come home at the same time every day and ask Ziva about her day, and hopefully down the line we can fight about whose turn it is to do bathtime. I want all of the day-to-day stuff, that I always wanted as a kid."

Gibbs nodded. Tony painted a nice picture, even if his vision of domestic bliss was to try and counter his childhood.

"Ziva's got a whole 'nother career in the pipeline," Tony continued, smiling as he spoke of Ziva. "There's no way she'd be able to go as far as she wants with, if I stayed an Agent. I don't want to stand in her way. I want to put her first. I don't think anyone's ever put her first."

Gibbs swallowed thickly. Knowing Tony was speaking the truth.

"Think the same goes for you," Gibbs muttered.

Tony felt his heart seize. How transparent he was.

"I've spent the last twenty-five years filing one cup," Tony said softly. "The other one's nearly empty, don't want it to run out."

Gibbs nodded.

"Fletc will be lucky to have you," Gibbs said. "You're one of my smartest."

Tony scoffed. He was never the brains of the operation.

"Haven't got it yet," Tony said.

He'd been told, that the second interview was basically a tick-box. Vance was already talking about filling his seat. Tony had started discretely chucking things out, from his desk drawers. He'd found Ziva's Hebrew copy of GSM tucked into his own collection and had brought it home to show her. It now lived under the bed, behind her seldom-worn heels and that extra yoga mat they'd discovered when he officially moved in.

"You'll get it," Gibbs replied.

"I was the wild card," Tony uttered. "Even the wild-card, will run out lucky strikes eventually."

"I mean it DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "You were a good agent."

"Best hang up the spurs, while I'm still a good agent," Tony muttered.

Gibbs only coughed in response.

"I can't imagine me and you running down perps with matching grey hair." Tony continued. "I'm getting to old for this gig. Outrunning a perp might give me a heart attack."

"What you tryna say?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm not a lifer like you," Tony replied, flashing his trademark grin. "You'll outlive us all, boss. You're immortal."

"You hung around for a while," Gibbs muttered, holding up his empty beer can. "Done some good."

Lots of good.

"You aren't pissed I'm leaving to go play househusband in the suburbs," Tony declared, looking out into the distance. "You don't teach those rules for nothing."

Except maybe Rule 12, Tony thought darkly, but decided not to verbalise.

"You ain't gonna be sitting on your butt," Gibbs replied. "And those rules aren't jus' for the job, they're for life. You can teach them to the new agents coming through."

Tony smiled at the thought of bright eyed Probies, with their questions. He buzzed at the thought of telling stories of crazy cases, and watching his new agents grow. He hadn't been this excited about work for a while.

"Ziva said, you told her the same thing," Tony murmured.

"I did," Gibbs replied. "You're a good agent, and good man, Tony."

He felt his throat close, and took a stabilizing breath. So many people tried to tell him that, but he was so afraid to believe them.

"I try to be," Tony whispered.

All he could do was try. One foot in front of the other.

"Gonna miss working with you boss," Tony declared. "I mean that."

They had over a decade of memories. Cases solved, and bad guys thrown in jail. Agents lost, and conspiracies far beyond their pay grades. Good times and bad. Mostly good though, and Tony would always remember the good.

"Yeah," Gibbs said softly. "Me too."

"We've had a good run," Tony declared. "We've probably got a couple more good ones in us, before the New Year."

Gibbs rested his empty beer can on the bench, and opened his arms. Tony stepped into the hug. Warm arms around him. A slap on the back, because that's how real men hug. Regardless, Tony could feel the love. So much love.

A feeling of peace washed over him. Excitement bubbled in his gut. The future looked bright.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Part of my delay in this, is trying to write this scene. Back when I planned this fic (back in November, yikes!) this was supposed to be a super important chapter, but with all the other storylines that have sprung from this, it feels less important in the scheme of things.

Next chapter will revisit the miscarriage. Chapter after that will feature Senior.

Thanks to all the readers, and the reviews.


	27. Snakes and Ladders

"Honey I'm home," Tony cooed, in that exaggerated voice, as he slipped through the door of their apartment, his backpack hanging off his shoulder, and a takeout bag held to his chest.

She watched, as he dumped his backpack next to the couch, put the take-out bag on the kitchen counter, and draped his jacket over the dining room table, even though they had perfectly functional coat-rack, which was not cluttered with winter coats yet.

"Hi," he said, moving toward the couch. The couch she had not moved from for over an hour. He placed a quick peck on her cheek. "How was your day?"

It was all so normal. Like a scene from one of those sitcoms he was always trying to convince her to watch. She never could get past the bright lights and canned laughter.

"You okay?" he asked.

His voice was soft, and kind. He was so kind.

He could tell she was struggling to tread water, and was offering her a lifeline.

"I will be," she said softly.

A cramp rolled through her stomach. Her period was coming. The first since the miscarriage. The ache ran deep. This too would pass.

He opened his mouth, to say something, but the thought got stuck. This had been happening more often. The latest bump in the road, was a hard one to navigate, especially together.

"Thank you for getting dinner," she said, reaching for his hand and giving it a light squeeze. "What did you end up getting?"

A flash of hurt registered on his features, he hurt when she hurt. He hurt when she tried to hide from herself.

"Falafel," he said, moving from the couch, toward the kitchen. "From that place you like."

The place with the Palestinian flag hanging behind the counter. The place where the mother of the two men who owned it, would wish her a Happy Hanukkah, because she too had visited the beaches of Haifa. The place, where the fresh Falafel tasted just like the falafel stand down the road from her apartment in Tel Aviv.

"You chose Falafel over pizza?" she asked, as she got up from the couch, teasing the throw blanket from her lap. It had felt heavy, like this fog.

When he had called her on his way home, she had asked him to pick up some dinner, and that he could pick whatever he liked. He had asked if she was okay, then too. His gut was tingling, with concern.

"Yeah," he said, with a smile, as she moved toward him. "Thought it might cheer you up."

She found her eyes moving to the floor. Had she been so silly, to think he had not noticed the low mood that had hung over her for the past few days.

"It is good falafel," Ziva declared, as Tony darted around the kitchen, finding the plates and cutlery.

She thought of the sheer tons of falafel she ate in the months after her mother died. Aunt Nettie, still swallowed up by grief would stop by the apartment on the way to her nursing shift, with take-out for Rivka's forgotten children, because Eli was not about to step up for his motherless daughters.

"Yeah," Tony said, as they walked toward the dining table. Ziva leading the way.

She sat down at the table, wincing slightly. These cramps felt like the ones she had suffered in that sociology lecture, before she found blood in her underwear. Before the evening spent in the emergency room, the smell of bleach making her nostrils ache. Before the silence, when the doctor tried to find the fetal heartbeat. The hope that they would, proved futile.

She knew these cramps were not the same, but her body often ached with memories. Years after that summer in the desert, she still felt the phantom whips from Saleem's filthy belt. She could still smell the cheap leather.

"I will cook tomorrow," Ziva said, holding the pita pocket in her hands, but not yet taking a bite. "Whatever you like."

He was greedily eating his falafel, with a piece of shredded lettuce falling onto his chest, and hummus being marooned on his check.

"If Gibbs lets us out at a reasonable hour, we could cook together," he said, holding the pita bread in his hand, and reaching his tongue up to his lip, to try and find the humus that was on his cheek. "I like it, when we cook together."

She remembered that book about love languages, that Breena had given them via Jimmy, when Tony and Ziva announced their engagement, even though they had not had an official engagement party. Neither of them had read it with much seriousness, but had completed the quiz. Both valued time spent together, as a love language. Not surprising considering their pasts.

She liked it when they cooked together too.

She took a bite of the pita bread, tasting the falafel. The falafel was perfect, not burnt. The humus was perfect, with just enough of a hint of tahini.

"Maybe we could make spaghetti," he continued, trying to get a smile from her. "We could even make the sauce from scratch."

She darted her eyes out the window. It was October already, the leaves were falling, and the air was crisp. The apartment however, was too warm. Stifling.

"Ellie called me today," Ziva declared, turning back to face him.

"Ellie," he echoed, trying to make sense of what she had told him. "Why did Bish call you?"

 _I know this is weird_ , Ellie had said as her voice came on the phone line, _but I thought you might want someone to talk too. Someone who has been through it too._

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words got lost.

"She did mention something about Krav Maga," Tony uttered, answering his own question. Filling in the silence. "Guess, she wants a distraction at the moment.."

Ellie and her husband had quietly separated, as summer pittered out. There was no dramatic event, or third party, but the realization that the two of them had drifted too far apart, to ever come back together. Jake had moved out. Ellie was promised an easy divorce.

"I suppose so," Ziva said, a guilty feeling stewing in her stomach. "That is not all she wanted to talk about."

 _I know you'll tell Tony,_ Ellie had said, twenty minutes after the conversation started. _It's okay. You two should talk about this kind of stuff. Jake and I never did. We just went on as if it never happened._

Ellie was younger than Ziva by eight months, but in that moment Ziva saw Ellie as the older one. The wiser one.

"Oh," Tony said, cocking his head. Confusion etched on his face. He shifted in his seat. He was so uncomfortable. He wanted to know everything about everyone. It made him a good cop.

"Ellie called because she thought I might want to talk about the miscarriage," Ziva said, sucking in a big gust of breath, then slowly letting it out. "She has had one too."

He stopped eating, placing the pita on the plate. His mouth hung ajar, as he computed the new information.

"When?" he asked. His twenty years of investigating coming up.

"Before we knew her," Ziva said relaying the facts in a clinical tone. Similar to one she used to use, when relaying the facts of a case. "About a year and a half ago."

The same summer that Tony and Ziva had spent galavanting around Israel, unlocking secrets or her past and getting closer, Ellie and Jake were suffering a personal tragedy. They were grieving the almost. Hopes had been dashed.

"That explains a lot," he muttered, bringing the pita back to his mouth. He had swallowed the surprising news now.

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning slightly.

"I kinda told everyone together," Tony started. "Well McGee already knew, but it was easier that way, I didn't want to keep having the same conversation with everyone. Anyway, Ellie got really quiet, and never talked about it. I thought it was because she didn't really know you, she's still getting used to the whole oversharing team dynamic."

 _You guys are so close,_ Ellie had said all those months ago, when Ziva first met her. Ellie had been tipsy and honest.

"It seems it was a bit more than that," she murmured.

"Yeah," he echoed. "Talking to her, did it help?"

Her face flushed.

 _Its weird,_ Ellie said, as they settled into comfortable conversation. _People always say its really common, but nobody ever talks about it._

Ziva's throaty chuckle had filled the line then.

"It did," she said. "It really did."

 _It wasn't planned_ Ellie had started _I wanted to wait for a couple more years. Jake was all gung-ho. But, I didn't feel ready. I felt like it would effect my life more than his._

Ellie's words had stunned Ziva, because as she heard them, because it felt like those words were own. Somebody finally got it.

"Good," he said. "That's really good."

He reached across the table and took her hand. He offered her a warm smile. A full moon of a smile.

"We talked for a while," Ziva said, feeling the wash of relief. Glad to finally be speaking about it. "She does want do Krav Maga, so we may talk again."

 _I still very guilty,_ Ziva had admitted with tears pricking her eyes. _It felt like it happened, because I was too worried about what would change. I was more concerned about my classes._

"Good," Tony repeated. "It's good."

"I still feel guilty," Ziva admitted.

The guilt ebbed and flowed. Sometimes the voice of reason, convinced her that it was just something that had happened, nothing she could have done would have changed that. Sometimes that voice got muted.

Tony's face fell.

"Like it was all my fault," Ziva continued.

He let out a breath.

"It wasn't your fault," he said softly, rubbing her knuckles. "I don't blame you, nobody blames you."

How many times, had he said that. How many times had she tried to tell herself that. How many times had it fallen on death ears.

"I know," she said softly. "But it still feels that way."

Time would heal. She knew this. But for now it just hurt. It hurt so much.

"It helped to talk to Ellie," Ziva said after a few moments of quiet. "She had similar feelings, that was comforting. It helped to know that someone else had been through it."

He nodded.

"I'm glad we're talking about this," he said softly.

She nodded too. They had made promises to keep talking about things, especially the difficult things. In recent weeks, they had fallen back into old habits. Of not talking. Of hiding. Both from themselves and each other.

"I thought I was moving forward," Ziva said quietly. Admitting it to herself, finally. "But, now it feels like I have moved backwards. Like that game with the snakes and the ladders."

The path to healing was never linear. She knew this.

"Talk to me," he whispered. Begging her to let him in.

"My period is coming, the first one since-," Ziva said, swallowing thickly. "The cramps feel similar, and it is bringing back memories."

She could remember the pain, so severe that it distracted her from her class. She could remember the shock of the unexpected blood in her underwear.

His face crumpled, with pain. There was so much pain.

She remembered that busy ER. The drugs they gave her to ensure the miscarriage completed without complications. The well meaning nurse, who had said that miscarriages were usually a sign of future fertility.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked. "To make it better."

How badly he wanted to help. How badly he wanted to make it all better.

"You are here," Ziva said softly. "That is helping."

So many people had not been there for her.

"Ellie and Jake are splitting up," he said, after a few quiet seconds.

Splitting up was an understatement. Jake and Ellie were married, they had made the promise of forever.

"Yes," Ziva replied.

He opened his mouth again, wanting to speak.

"They only had their miscarriage like a year ago," he finally said. He did not want their miscarriage to split them up too.

"I do not think, they are not splitting because of the miscarriage," Ziva replied, reading between the lines, and bringing the hidden conversation out of the shadows.

"It's probably part of it," Tony muttered.

They could not possibly know if the miscarriage was part of it. They were outside observers to Jake and Ellie's marriage, and did not know either of them well enough, to make such inferences. So much would be bubbling away under the surface. Maybe, separating was the best thing for Jake and Ellie to do. To cut ties, rather than plodding along in a dying marriage, while the bitterness seeped into them.

"Maybe," she offered. Giving him the lifeline, and trying to soothe his fears. "But, there were other things too."

"They stopped finding things to talk about," Tony reported. "All they talked about was work, then when Ellie's security clearance changed."

She knew what he was talking about, he had told her about the conversation he had with Ellie all those months ago. She also knew what he trying to say. He was talking about them. What if they stopped finding things to talk about?

"That's not going to happen to us," she whispered. Offering reassurances.

It was a plea to the universe. Begging for loud dinner tables, car trips filled with laughter, and long nights of talking before bed. Hoping the silence never formed between them, building a wall they could never tear down.

"We won't let it," he said, with a smile.

Til death do them part.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Thanks so much for the reads, reviews and faves, both new and recurring.

The next chapter will feature Senior and Tony talking about things.

It's a long weekend here, so I want to have a shorter break between chapters.

I know in cannon Ellie didn't split from her husband until like a whole year later, but at this point this fic barely resembles cannon. Also, I wanted Ziva to have someone to talk too, but I haven't seen enough of Ellie to write her character.


	28. Offering the Olive Branch

Tony smiled, as he lifted the lid off the pan, the risotto locked perfect. The ball game hummed from the other room. His Dad stood at the breakfast bar, tea-towel over his shoulder, and matching smile on his face. Proud of their afternoon of hard work coming to fruition. Proud of how easy this lazy Sunday afternoon was. Things with his Dad, had never this easy.

"I don't know what to get Ziva for her birthday," Tony said, as he moved to turn the heat down. Lest the perfection be spoiled.

He was puzzled for a moment, remembering he was not in the apartment he shared with Ziva, but the one his Dad now lived in. The one he himself had lived in for years. Not that he could ever remember cooking anything beyond a grilled cheese sandwich.

"When is her birthday?" Senior asked, his eyes directed toward the television. A touchdown. The crowd on the television cheered.

"The twelfth," Tony replied, as he reached up to the cupboard where the plates were. Correction, where Tony had kept the plates, when it was his home. The cupboard was empty, except for a bag of flour.

"I keep them lower," Senior said, turning back to his son, and noting his confusion. "Sometimes it hurts my back to reach up so high."

Tony found the plates in a cupboard, next to about a dozen tupperware containers that used to live in Ziva's cupboard. These lost boxes, were often transported between the two DiNozzo apartments. Ziva seemed thoroughly convinced that Senior could not cook for himself.

"Aren't you two going to the opera?" Senior asked, as Tony started plating the food.

He checked his watch. Ziva was probably still forty minutes away, having gone for to the gym with Ellie. He dug the ladle into the risotto, and begun to suspect he had over catered. He thought of McGee, who was spending most non-working hours with his Dad in the hospice. Admiral McGee was in his last weeks. Maybe, they could leave some food at McGee's apartment. Something warm might help him get through these coming dark days.

Or maybe, he could text Ziva and invite Ellie over for lunch. Ellie probably needed the company. He grabbed his phone and sent a text to Ziva. Not expecting a quick reply.

"Yeah," Tony said, remembering the tickets they had purchased. He needed to take his best suit to the dry cleaners. "But that's not 'til the end of the month."

"Still counts," Senior replied. "The opera is one of the big three."

Tony remembered saying the same thing to McGee years ago, when Ziva had tickets to the opera with Ray. How long ago that was. How much wiser he was now.

"The opera is not for her birthday," Tony said quickly. A harsh tone seeping into his voice.

It was for a songbird who got her wings clipped. Still, he did not know how much to explain to Senior. Ziva's story was not his to tell.

Senior looked at him with a frown. He did not understand the line that he crossed. There was still so much, father and son had not shared.

"Ziva's sister liked opera," Tony started, watching as realisation dawned in Senior's face. "She was born in November too."

Ziva and Tali David, born four years and eleven days apart. Tony did the math, working out how old Tali would be turning now. Tali would be twenty-eight to Ziva's thirty-two. Ziva was twice as old as Tali ever got to be. How could basic arithmetic be so painful.

"Her name was Tali, right?" Senior asked, with a softness to his voice.

He wondered how Senior had come to know about Tali, but didn't question further.

"Yeah, it was," Tony replied.

A quiet brewed between them, as they picked up the plates, and moved toward the dining table. Little had changed in Tony's apartment, Senior had moved around so often that he did not own furniture, and Tony had taken very little with him when he moved into Ziva's. The DVD shelves were emptier, and the bar cart fuller, but that was it. Father and son, weren't so different after all. The apple did not fall far from the tree.

"What were you thinking?" Senior asked, as father and son shoveled risotto into their mouths.

Tony looked up at his Dad. Confusion washed over his face.

"For Ziva's birthday," Senior clarified.

Another touchdown was scored on the game behind him them, but it wasn't the team they supported, so neither father or son said much about it. The game was just background noise.

"Dunno," Tony uttered.

He really was stumped. Ziva wasn't one for extravagant gifts, and they were always saying they should be saving for the wedding.

"I was thinking about a weekend away," Tony started, his go to for time spent with Ziva, "But November's hard, Ziva's got a lot going on with school, and then there's the holidays. It probably won't work. Besides, we're trying to save for the wedding."

"Take her somewhere nice for dinner," Senior offered. "Every girl loves an expensive dinner."

Senior had probably met enough women, to make a valid statistical inference, but Ziva always was one in a million. Always defying the odds.

"Yeah," Tony replied, with a slight smile. "That was part of the plan, I just really wanted to do something nice this year. It's been a tough few weeks."

Senior nodded, with understanding.

"How is she doing?" Senior asked. "After the loss."

Senior had been told before the rest of the team. The plan had been to tell him, when he got back from Monaco, but by the time he did, hope had been lost. Senior had arrived at their apartment full of excitement. Tony had been the one to tell Senior, while Ziva had been in the bathroom washing her face. Senior had been saddened by the news, and wrapped his son in a tight hug. When Ziva had come out of the bathroom, her face still tear streaked, and Senior had wrapped her in a light hug too. It was all he could do in that moment.

"Good days and bad," Tony replied honestly. "Getting better, though."

Ziva's first period since the miscarriage, had proved difficult territory to navigate, and Tony had struggled with not being able to do anything to help. Instead they had to wait it out. The cramps had been the worst part, a physical reminder of what had happened. When the cramps had passed, Ziva had focused on distraction. They had gotten a lot of wedding planning done, and where to scout out venues in the coming weekends. They had an appointment with a Rabbi at the end of the week.

"And you?" Senior asked. His voice softening with concern. It was so unexpected, but so wanted.

Tony swallowed thickly. Honesty was still hard. Especially with his Dad.

"Good days, and bad," he replied. The pain was starting to drift away. "Getting better, though."

Senior nodded. Pain in his eyes too.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to be making big decisions at the moment?" Senior asked, his voice laced with concern. "With everything that just happened."

Tony frowned, not quite sure what Senior was on about.

"Ziva's birthday isn't a big decision," Tony replied. "It's like you said, it's nothing a slap-up meal can't fix."

"I don't mean that," Senior replied, still concerned. "I meant the career change."

Tony nodded. The second interview had gone well, and Tony had received the news the week beforehand. Gibbs had known, but Tony was hesitant to tell the others. Ziva of course had made a fuss of him, and they had a celebratory bottle of expensive wine, and a toast to the future. Their future was looking bright.

"Those wheels were in motion, long before the miscarriage," Tony uttered.

The interview process had run longer than the pregnancy. Time was a funny thing. So fleeting but so drawn out at the time.

"Ok," Senior replied.

"We've been talking about it since March," Tony said after a couple of quiet moments. "I've needed to make a change for a while, now."

"I don't understand," Senior replied.

"Well the interview process takes like three months," Tony begun. "I didn't think a position at Fletc would come up so soon, but Reynolds is retiring early, because his wife is sick."

Tony often thought of Reynolds and his ailing wife, as he was preparing to start a life with his new wife. It was the lifecycle of these things, but it still stung. Life was precious. He needed to remind himself to grab it with two hands fall.

"I thought you liked being a cop," Senior continued.

"I do," Tony said, with a smile. "I did."

He had grown so much, the longer he wore the badge. Twenty years was a long time.

"I don't understand why you would want to leave," Senior continued. He was so confused.

Tony nodded, knowing he would have to answer these questions over the next few weeks, as it all came out. Would the others understand, like they had when Ziva laid down the badge?

"I've never been good at balancing it all," Tony finally admitted. "I always put work first, ever since I picked up the badge."

"You're like me," Senior uttered. "In that respect."

Tony shifted in his seat. Was Senior always chasing the deal, the same has him chasing justice? Did the apple not fall further from the tree?

"It was okay to put work first, when it was just me," Tony declared, as he thought of the relationships he had let slip through his fingers. "But it's not just me now."

It was him and Ziva, versus the world. They were going to take on the world, together. Always together.

"Did Ziva make you do this?" Senior asked. "Because she left."

He was expecting this question, just not from Senior. Still, he would need to prepare the answer now.

"No," Tony said with a raised voice. "She always said she would support me, no matter what."

There had been so many late night conversations, about the past, present and future. How would they make things work. Everything they would do, would be done together.

"I wouldn't blame you, if you were doing it for her," Senior declared, with a smirk. "She's a hell of woman."

"Ziva and I want to have a life together," Tony continued, as thoughts of the quiet little life, he and Ziva were going to have filled his mind. "I wanna be there for all the boring stuff. I want to be there for weeknight dinners, and lazy weekends. In a few years, I want us to be bickering over whos turn it is to do bath time. I want all of that."

Senior nodded. Tony painted such a picture. Perhaps, there would be room for a bumbling grandpa in the corner.

"Like in the movies," Senior muttered. "Like that movie you watch every Christmas."

His Dad had never been a movie buff like Tony's Mom had been, but he enjoyed Tony's new Christmas tradition of watching _It's A Wonderful Life_. Could Tony and Ziva, have such a wonderful life, with a modest house, and a couple of kids.

"Yeah," Tony replied. "Ziva never really had that growing up."

Neither did he. How badly, he had wanted it all. How much he still did.

"Is this because of your childhood?" Senior finally asked. "I know things weren't the best. I wasn't there."

Senior still wished he could have another go. Wind back the clock. Make up for past mistakes.

"It's probably part of it," Tony admitted. Truth was the only option at this point, and Senior deserved the truth.

Senior looked down at the table. His face burning red. Hurt and shame, flushing in his cheeks.

"I wish things had been different," Senior uttered. "I wish I'd been there more."

"Me too," Tony replied, offering an olive branch to his father. "But, I don't blame you Dad. Yeah, if things had been different, things might be different now, but we can't change that."

"No," Senior replied. "We can't."

"This new job is going to give me more time," Tony continued, still extending the olive branch out. "For all the people in my life. I want time for all of the people in my life."

"That good," Senior said, letting out a breath. "That's really good."

"I like these lunches," Tony said, offering a lifeline.

"Me too," Senior replied, with a slight smile.

"We should do these more often," Tony uttered. "With Ziva too."

"I'd like that," Senior replied, still smiling. Hopeful for the future. Hopeful for many more family lunches.

Tony's phone buzzed, disturbing the peaceful quiet which had washed over them. Ziva was on her way back to the apartment, bringing Ellie with her.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Thanks for all of the reviews etc. Some of them have been really heart warming. To the guests, who have been through similar experiences, my heart goes out to you. Thank you for leaving such honest reviews.

The next chapter, will have Tony and Ziva wedding planning. Which will probably be up next week.


	29. Picture The Moment

Tony felt a shiver run up his back, as he stepped outside. Virginia during the first weekend of November, was frigid. Ziva had gone into full winter hibernation mode, bringing out her winter sweaters, and buying yet another throw blanket for the couch. Ziva liked to be cosy, once there was a chill in the air.

There was a breath of warmth as Ziva slipped through the sliding door, and stood next to him. Nice and close.

"It is beautiful here," Ziva uttered, as they looked out to the vineyard. It was misty, almost like a horror movie. Nobody had told the weather the Halloween was over. This place was only a couple of hours away from home. "And not so far away."

Only a couple of hours away geographically, but it felt like another planet.

"Can you see yourself getting married here?" he asked, as he snaked his arm around Ziva's shoulder. She was warmer, having grabbed a scarf before they headed out. She had always been the more practical of the two of them.

"It is only the second venue we have seen," Ziva replied, leaning into him. "We should not make any sudden decisions."

It was the second venue they had seen in person, but they had looked up various venues. Neither of them had harbored dreams of huge white weddings, but they had some specifications. The more utilitarian included; not being too far away, being accessible for Delilah and having a quiet room available for use, as it was likely the baby Palmer would be hatched by them.

The more aesthetic dreams they had, included getting married outside and for the event to be intimate and private.

They also found themselves, pushed out of certain venues because of their plan for a small wedding. They only wanted their closest friends, and almost family there.

"Third, if we count Morticia and Gomez' Virginian vacation house," Tony muttered, scrunching up his face at the recent memory.

The gothic look of that venue had only been heightened by the dark weather, and both of them had decided not to step out of the car. Tony noted down the venue, as it seemed like the type of thing Abby would like.

"We did not even go inside," Ziva declared, with a slight smile. "That does not count."

"Anyway," he said, wanting to move the conversation along. "I can see us getting married here."

She turned to him, looking up at him, with wide eyes.

"You can?" she asked. Her voice giving her away, she was not convinced.

"You can't?" he asked back.

"I could get married anywhere," Ziva replied.

"Well it would be a hell of a lot cheaper to get married near the freeway," he said in a joking tone.

"You know what I mean," Ziva said, with a frown.

"I know," he replied. "Ziva David never thought she'd be front and centre of My Big Fat Jewish Wedding. There were times when she did not think she'd live to see another day."

She laughed, just as she had when they had snuggled up to watch the film, in an effort to get wedding inspiration, and something to laugh at. A James Bond movie had followed, but Ziva had fallen asleep during that.

It was not just the fact that Ziva had never been the girl who had planned her wedding before puberty. It was the fact that there would be so many empty seats, as well as the recent dark cloud that had hung over them, after thier recent loss. They were moving forward, one step at a time. Focusing on the joy.

"This matters more to you," Ziva started, voice wavering. "As long as we are married by a Rabbi I am flexible on the logistics."

Tony had met the Rabbi at the synagogue Ziva went to at least once a month. The Rabbi, who was more liberal than Tony was used to from religious leaders, had welcomed Tony with a warm hug and an all-knowing almost motherly smile, _Ziva has told me a lot about you._

"Well we've got that," Tony said with a smile. "Rabbi Hug-a-lot, will give Abby a run for her money."

He couldn't remember the Rabbi's name, except that it did end with a 'wig' sound.

"Yes," Ziva said with a smile. "I am glad."

He looked out to the vineyard, his imagination running wild. Maybe, they could take pictures in front of the vines. The venue had a bed and breakfast just up the hill, maybe they could stay overnight, for their first night as married couple. Would, Amira run off and get herself lost in the nature, with poor Leyla cursing the ruined dress.

"Do you really not care where we get married?" he asked, trying not to sound as hurt as he was feeling, but the crack in his voice gave him away.

Did none of this matter to her?

"It is not that," Ziva said. "I just do not have your imagination for these things."

He scanned the venue, looking out the open terrace, with no steps separating it from the sheltered terrace, where they could set up a table. He could see it already. Their nearest and dearest surrounding them. It would be day of joy and love.

"Look at this place," he said, as he moved toward the open terrace, pointing. "I can see us getting married here. Who were we gonna get to hold the Chuppah, again?"

They had discussed that on the way back from the appointment from the Rabbi.

"Abby, McGee, Schmeil and Gibbs," she said with confidence.

They had debated back and forth, with Ziva offering to include his father, but Tony wanted her to decide. They would find a part for Senior to play.

"Yeah," he said, with a smile. "All of our favourite people will be surrounding us, and we won't have to worry about Delilah getting grass in her wheels. And, I know Schmeil gets a lil' wobbly after a few drinks."

He already knew that when the day came, his eyes would be on Ziva and Ziva only. She would be every part the stunning bride. She had not been dress shopping yet, but he had seen her looking at few dresses online, ruling out anything strapless, which was most of the dresses on offer.

"That is a nice thought," she replied.

"Can you picture it?" he asked.

"Sort of," she admitted. "But not quite. I do not have your imagination."

He moved slightly toward the covered patio, which was attached to the main house, softly guiding Ziva. He pointed to the wooden trellis, wrapped in evergreen vines.

"Close your eyes," he said softly. "It'll help."

Ziva turned to look at him, with a disbelieving frown.

"Trust me," he whispered.

"I do," came her reply.

"Then close your eyes," he uttered softly. "Just for a moment."

She closed her eyes, and he rested his hands on her shoulders, feeling a tension ebb and flow through her. Old habits die hard.

"Over there in the open, we'll get married, under the Chuppah. And here, we'll have big meal," he said, unable to shake a smile. One that had not fallen off, since he had walked into the venue. "Can you picture my Dad drinking all the wine? What about Schmeil and Ducky talking about anything and everything? We'll have to make sure we have some bourbon for Gibbs."

She let out a small laugh. He hoped the picture was being painted.

"Nobody else will be able to get a word in," she said softly.

"Everyone we love will be here," he said. "We'll celebrate this with them."

They would celebrate their love, with all of those that mattered most.

"I would like us to have one big table," Ziva said. "All of eating together."

"I like that," he said. His voice drifting away.

She opened her eyes, and looked around the venue, her eyes lit up with imagination.

"I am starting to see what you are seeing," Ziva murmured. "It could be a really beautiful wedding."

It would be a beautiful wedding.

"Yeah," he said with a smile. "It will be."

"Shall we go back inside?" Ziva asked, tugging his icy-cold hand. "Ask the co-ordinator about the dates they have available."

"Earliest date is the second weekend of September," he muttered, as they slowly walked back toward the house. "Because of a cancellation."

He had asked the moment he stepped through the doors. He just knew this was the place. Judging by the waitlist, a lot of people also thought the same thing.

"That is not for months," Ziva said.

It would be just over ten months away. It felt such a long time.

"Well, we never said we would rush down the aisle," he said.

It looked like it would be fourteen months from the moment he was down on one knee, until the day they were pronounced man and wife. It felt like a lifetime.

"No," Ziva said with a smile. "It just feels like it is very far away. I thought you wanted to beat Dorney down the aisle."

Ned Dorneget had recently announced his engagement to a man named Brian, who had worked with Ellie at the NSA. Tony had said nothing about Dornie's sexuality, but had cracked a joke about people in the line of work being unable to marry outside of the job.

"It'll fly by," he murmured. "Besides there's so much to do, according to my Dad there's a ton of stuff to do, to plan a wedding."

Technically, he too had been involved with wedding planning once before, but he was younger then, and Wendy had a clear vision of what she wanted. All that he was involved in, was signing the cheque, and calling everyone the morning of to tell them it wasn't happening.

"If anyone would know," Ziva stated, as they stepped through the door into warmth.

"Besides, this gives Abby some time to plan my bachelor party," he declared. Softening his voice to a whisper.

Abby had declared she wanted to plan both Tony's bachelor party, and Ziva's bachelorette party, as they were both her friends, and loved them both equally. Tony had been more excited about that prospect, whereas Ziva was not sure if she wanted one. So much of the wedding stuff felt foreign.

Almost everything they had looked at online was meant for big weddings for younger couples with huge extended families. It was all rehearsal dinners, and gift grabbing. They wanted a casual wedding, where everyone was comfortable, so they had vetoed the rehearsal dinner. They had decided early on, was to ask for their friends to donate to charity, if they insisted on provided a wedding gift, as they did not need another plate set. Nor did their friends need the stress of gift giving.

"Yes," she said with a smile. "And. I am sure you will need to sufficient time to recover from that before the wedding."

He half laughed, as his body warmed up, moments after stepping inside. Abby's parties were always wild.

"If it rains," Ziva started, looking around the large sunroom, with a huge rustic dining table. "We could move in here."

That was Ziva, always thinking of the back-up plan, and a contingency. It was helpful and heartbreaking at the same time.

"Yeah," he said, with a smile. "Let's ask about that date in September."

"Yes," she replied. An enthusiastic yes.

The venue coordinator, perhaps sensing that they were ready to sign on the dotted line, appeared out of nowhere. She looked like she had stepped out of a bad nineties movie, with a pastel skirt suit. Tony could not remember the woman's name, and she had told him at least three times.

"Would you like some information about some local photographers, and caters we work with?" the co-ordinator asked. "I believe one of them has Kosher options."

Tony found himself moderately surprised, as the co-ordinators astute observation. Ziva's accent was almost never guessed correctly, and her necklace was hidden under her thick scarf. He wondered for a brief moment, if there were listening devices hidden among the potted plants on the terrace.

The co-ordinator thrust the leaflets in Ziva's direction. Tony knew this scene the co-ordinator was expecting, Ziva was to play bridezilla, while he was the reluctant groom, who did not know his eggshell from his ivory. Old tropes die hard.

"Maybe later," Ziva said. "First, we would like to discuss dates."

The co-ordinator smiled. Smelling the money. Her bleached blonde curly hair bounced with excitement.

"Of course, when were you thinking?" she said again.

"September," Tony started, as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It rang and rang.

The team were definately off-duty this weekend, so he let the phone ring to voicemail. Ellie was up in Oklahoma licking her wounds after her recent separation, McGee was with his Dad in the hospice. Vance had promised them that it would have to be the apocalypse before they got called in.

Still, Tony, almost felt guilty planning something so joyful among so much of his friends sorrow.

The vibration stopped. Then a few seconds later another vibration indicated that a voicemail had been left. Whatever, it was it could wait.

"Do you still have that cancellation on the thirteenth?" Ziva asked. "Or even something earlier."

"Yes," came the bright reply from the co-ordinator. What was her name? "September is our earliest date."

Ziva's phone started to vibrate. Ringing and ringing. It was too soon after he had ignored his call, for it to be anyone other than his caller. Whoever was trying very hard to get in touch with both of them.

Tony felt a gnawing feeling in his gut. Something had happened. Something bad.

"Maybe, you should get that," he whispered to Ziva.

She finished her phone out from her jacket pocket.

"I'm sorry Sandra," Ziva said turning her direction to the co-ordinator. "I need to take this."

So that was her name, finally revealed in the closing act.

"Of course," Sandra said, but Ziva had already moved toward the other end of the room.

"Hello Abby," Ziva said. Tony made no effort to talk to Sandra, instead he pretended to look at the leaflets, while listening to Ziva. Sandra picked up her own phone, and started tapping away. Her fingernails clacking on the screen. "No, Tony is with me, we are up in Virginia."

Tony turned slightly to watch as Ziva spoke. Her face fell from the smile she was wearing, to a heavy look.

"Oh," Ziva said carefully. "How is Tim doing?"

Tony's ears picked up. What had happened?

"Of course," Ziva said again. "We will be back soon. See you soon."

Ziva took a deep breath, as she slid her phone back into her pocket. Her shoulders were slouched and heavy. Her eyes looked out into the distance, lost in a sea of thoughts.

Something bad had happened, he just knew it.

Tony found himself crossing the room, leaving the leaflets on the table, and Sandra to her own phone.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, moving into her personal space.

"McGee's father died," Ziva reported. He realised the expression she was wearing, was one of sadness. One of empathy. It had not been long, since her own father had died. She was getting swept out to sea, in a tide of resurfaced grief.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly. She leaned into him. Pulling him close.

To have and to hold. Until death do them part.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Thanks for all the reviews, faves and follows. Both new and regulars. Hi to all the guest reviewers.

The next chapter, will focus on our dynamic duo being good friends to McGee. I am aiming for weekly updates.

As someone who lives in wine country where it doesn't snow, I was surprised to learn Virginia had vineyards. I might have goofed on how long it takes to get between where they are supposed to live, and where the vineyards are, so please forgive me. Also, now my pinterest homepage is full of wedding stuff, because of the research I did for this chapter.


	30. A Helping Hand

Tim pulled the door behind him, closing the door on the house of grief. Sadness hung over the house, weighing all the occupants down. He felt a woosh of cool air, as he stood on the porch. He regretted the fact, that he had left his coat inside.

Ziva and Tony were two steps ahead of him, in matching all-black outfits. Tony jangled the car keys in his hands. Ziva rubbed her gloved hands together. For a moment it felt like they were on a case, and the tragedy was not his own. If only things were that easy to seperate.

How many times had they stood mere meters away, from people going through their worst nightmare. It seemed morbid to think about now.

He leaned on the door. He was just so tired. The two days, since his father died, had been so long. Not punctuated by sleep. The past two nights were spent tossing and turning.

"Thanks guys," McGee uttered.

His friends looked up at him. Concern etched on their faces. They wore matching tight frowns.

"Picking Delilah up, was no issue," Ziva said quickly.

"Yeah," Tony added before McGee could say anything. "We were happy to do it."

The two of them were so in sync. Such a team.

"It is what families do, no?" Ziva uttered.

Delilah had braved nearly a full day of flying to get here, for this. Swapping her much prized Christmas leave with a colleague, for a much sadder occasion. Still, when he had seen her again, he had felt just a tiny bit better. She was here. Her arms had wrapped around him, and for just a second it all felt a little bit better.

"Still," McGee said softly. "Thank you. And for the food too."

Ziva nodded. She had presented the foil topped casserole dish to his mother, and muttered something about grief and food. Still, there seemed to a divide among the remaining McGees. Tim, and his mother Cheryl seemed content to smother their grief, with warm potato and casseroles. His grandmother Penny, and sister Sarah, on the other hand, were martyred by their grief, refusing food, because mourning had stolen their appetite.

"This isn't how I pictured meeting your Mom," Tony muttered.

McGee's mother, had moved to Scottsdale, when Sarah went to college, leaving her husband in the process, and eventually meeting and marrying a man who worked in real estate. This man, had been everything John McGee was not. He was attentive, emotionally competent, and semi-retired, permitting a life of leisure. Even though both of her children lived in the DC Metro area, Cheryl Thomas, previously McGee seldom visited, and therefore had not had a chance to meet Tim's other family.

His other family, had rallied around him. Ellie, had come back from Oklahoma earlier than planned, so that McGee could take all the time he needed. She had even sent flowers, even thought she had never met the Admiral. Abby had stopped by a couple of times, bringing food, and hugs. Gibbs had stopped by. Ducky had come to talk to Penny, and the two had gone on a walk. Penny had seemed more at peace, when she came back into the house. Tim was so glad for both families. Love was never divided but multiplied.

McGee, knew his mother was struggling. Once upon a time, she had loved John, and she had given thirty years of her life to him. Still, she struggled to grieve for him now. Instead, she put all her energy, into making sure things were organised. She had taken on all the administration tasks of John's dying and funeral. Now, she hovered around, a nervous ball of energy, trying to support her children, and her former mother-in-law, who she had rather admired.

McGee had overheard, Cheryl on the phone to her new husband, trying to articulate all the complicated feelings, the last few weeks had stirred up. McGee wondered if, the new husband understood.

McGee, also wondered, or rather hoped, that with his Dad gone, he could build a better relationship with his Mom. A closeness. Like the budding one he saw between Tony and his father.

"Neither did Delilah," McGee replied.

Delilah had met Cheryl with a nervous smile. They were now sitting in the dining room, of Penny's house, eating Ziva's casserole, and not saying much. Jetlag and grief were creating walls in conversation. McGee hoped, that a friendship would develop between the two.

"She's handling it like a champ," Tony murmured. A smile of pure pride on his face.

McGee nodded. She was.

"How are you doing Tim?" Ziva asked. Her voice soft and calm. Soothing, like sitting in a warm bath after a cold day.

How was he doing? He didn't even know. Sometimes he felt numb. Sometimes, the residual anger he had toward his father, boiled to the surface. Mostly, guilt suffocated him. Why couldn't he just be sad like Sarah was? Why wasn't his relationship with his Dad, like the one Sarah had with him? Why was this so hard?

"My Dad died," he said, his voice cracking, and his throat tight. Sticking to the facts, was all he could do at the moment, like the good scientist he was.

Ziva stepped closer to him. Almost close enough for a hug. So many people had hugged him the last few days.

Her nose was red, from the chill in the wintery air. Her eyes with glassy. It hadn't been so long since her own father had died. It hadn't been so long since she had to listen to people, talk about how fantastic her father was, while she was simmering with anger.

"Yeah," Tony said. A filler word.

McGee blinked looking at his friends. They were familiar with this dance. Tony was a child, when his mother died. Eight years old, compared to McGee's thirty five. It felt so young. Ziva had lost so many people in such a short space of time. Her mother. Her sister, how McGee still felt his stomach ache when he thought of Ziva's sister, how his mind always turned to his own sister. Ziva had lost her father too. Less than two years ago. That wound was still so fresh.

"I don't know how to feel," McGee said, his voice neutral. "Things with my Dad, they were, they were-" he found himself stopping. Not wanting to speak ill of the dead.

"Difficult?" Ziva offered. Tossing the lifeline from the deck of the ship, as McGee drowned in the choppy sea.

If anyone would get what he was feeling, it would be Ziva.

"Yeah," McGee finally said. "And I don't know how to feel."

Sad. Angry. Mad. Guilty. He carried so guilty.

"Sarah is so sad," McGee said. Sarah's eyes were red with tears. "Penny is devastated."

It was unnatural to bury a child. The cruel twist of fate, saw Penny nursing the same son, she had once taught to walk. Tim wondered how Penny was still standing. How had grief not knocked her down to the ground. She always the strongest of all of them.

"Of course," Ziva whispered.

"Even my Mom is sad," McGee continued, feeling his voice get harsh. "I mean why, wouldn't she be. They were married for thirty years. But, things are complicated for her."

Things with his Dad, were so complicated. For a lot people.

"You are allowed to feel, however you want," Tony said softly. Tony stepped closer to Tim. Tim could smell Tony's aftershave. They seldom stood so close.

"I don't really feel anything, right now," McGee finally admitted. "I think it will come later."

He suspected that once he was alone, he would let go, and the dark thoughts would ruminate. The grief would come freefall. There would likely be tears. Tears for his father. Tears for the relationship they never quite managed to mend. Tears for not having a normal father-son relationship.

"Maybe," Ziva whispered. "Things are easier when it is quiet."

When he did not have to pretend to be the bereaved son of the Admiral. When he did not have to worry about his grandmother or his sister.

"It'll just take time, I guess," McGee continued.

He knew this. This was not his first rodeo on grief. This was the first time, death had come so close, that he could remember. He was barely out of diapers, when he had sat through his grandfathers Navy funeral, with honours, but even then he was just sad.

"Yes," Ziva replied. "When it all comes to the surface, if you need someone to talk too, I'm here."

"Me too," Tony added.

He looked at his friends. Who greeted him with warm faces, and open arms. He knew he would take them up on their offer eventually. Perhaps, he would seek each of their consuel individually, or maybe together, over dinner and wine. Maybe, peace would be granted to him.

"I know," McGee replied. "Thanks, guys."

Thank you was not enough. How could he express how grateful he was, for two of them. Thank you for being a friend, did not run deep enough.

"Bring on 2015," Tony muttered, his own voice cracking. "2014, has been a stinker."

McGee nodded. It was only mid-November, but McGee was done with the year. So much tragedy had befallen them.

He watched as his friends shared a look. The last few months had been especially hard for them. The unexpected pregnancy, and the miscarriage. So much sadness.

"We have a lot to look forward too, next year," Ziva whispered. A half smile on her face. Ziva always could look for the silver lining.

So much joy, was ahead. Breena and Jimmy's baby, Tony and Ziva's wedding. Delilah coming back. The next year would be joyus.

"Yeah," McGee whispered.

He hoped for the happiness that would come. He would hang onto that, as he worked through this grief.

"I did what we talked about," McGee said after a few quiet seconds, directing his eye contact to Ziva. "What you did for your Dad."

A flicker of recognition crossed Ziva's face. Remembering that conversation, during their jog around the park, back in May. How long ago that felt.

Tony's eyes darted around the room. He didn't know what they were on about. McGee suspected Ziva would read him in later. Those two had no secrets.

"Oh," Ziva said. "Did it help?"

He had written a letter. Telling his Dad, that he wished things had been different. Wishing things had been better between the two of them. He had slid the letter into his Dad's jacket. Hoping to bury some of his resentment, with his Dad. Hoping to move forward.

"Yeah," McGee said. "I think it did. Time will tell."

"That is good," Ziva whispered.

"Yeah," McGee said, his voice still flat.

"We should go," Ziva said, opening her arms for a hug.

McGee stepped into the hug. Ziva's arms were tightly around him. Centering him in the moment.

Ziva let him go. Then Tony stepped up, and wrapped his arms around him. Slapping him on the back, because that's how real men hugged.

"We'll see you soon," Tony said, as he let go. "Call us if you need anything. I mean Tim, anything."

Tim noted the lack of nickname, and the use of his first name. Tony was being nice. It was weird. It wouldn't last.

McGee stood on the porch, and watched as his friends walked away. Tony wrapped his arm around Ziva's waist, and they walked out into the street. The two of them kept talking, a low murmur that McGee couldn't hear.

Tim stood on the porch for a few moments. Feeling the chill of the winter air for a few more seconds. He heard the door open behind him. Delilah wheeled over the threshold, making a clunking sound. The house Penny had rented was not very wheelchair friendly.

"There you are," she said softly. "Shall we go back inside."

"In a minute," he replied, turning to look at her.

She was rugged up, having come from the warm weather in Dubai, and because her spinal cord injury meant that effectively her thermostat was broken. He could just see her face, over her thick pink scarf. Her eyes were surrounded by dark rings after all the travel. Yet, she was here for him.

God, he loved her. He loved her so damn much. He wanted it all with her. A life built together. A future. He wanted to grab it with both hands.

"Okay," Delilah said, as she placed her gloved hand in his bare one. "Let's just stay here for a moment."

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Alas, I had great plans for this chapter, but it fell flat. I don't think I captured Tim's point of view very well.

Also, we're looking at 3-4 more chapters of this beast. I know I've been the author who cried end, a few times now, but this story has followed a different path from where this all started. It has also been one of the longest fics I've ever written. Seriously, this fic has reached a word count of over 80k! Yes, I know a good 2k of those words are author's notes.

The next few chapters will be joyful, and I promise I won't cheat you out of the Tony/Ziva wedding. We will also get to meet Victoria Palmer.

If anyone has anything that they really think needs to be included in the run up to the wedding, please let me know. I can't promise I will write them, but I will consider it. I would like to finish on a nice even 34 chapters.

Thank you for all the reviews, favourites, follows and general love. Thanks for all of the support.

Next chapter hopefully in a week, if not two weeks.


	31. Come All Ye Faithful

Tony watched as his Dad walked toward Gibbs house, carrying a stuffed santa sack under his arm. Christmas at casa la Gibbs, had quickly become a tradition for their chosen family, and Senior had slotted right in to the festivities. The old man walked gingerly to the front door, excited to see the people who had accepted him into the family, just as they had his son. Tony knew, that Senior had been hesitant to accept this love, so unsure it was something that he deserved. Yet the family, had eventually welcomed him with open arms.

Tony noted that they were the last to arrive a fact they would blame on Senior. The others cars were parked on Gibbs' driveway and outside of the house. He wondered for a moment, if Gibbs even had enough seats for everyone. Their makeshift family seemed to grow every year. Despite the addition of new members, the love was always multiplied, never divided.

Abby, having greeted Senior had moved to the window, and was waving at them, telling them to come in. To come home. She wore an excited grin.

"We should go in," Ziva said, placing her hand on his wrist. He looked through the windscreen, into the distance.

She was wearing that teal coloured dress, that only really got an outing during the winter holidays and Passover. Her hair had been pulled back, in a 'natural' look, which had taken nearly an hour to perfect. Her engagement ring, and favourite earrings gleaned in the winter sun. They shone brighter than any tree ornament.

"In a minute," he said, sucking in a deep breath. When was the last time he had been nervous to see these people. To see his family.

Amira too had joined Abby by the window, and was waving at them. She wore the excited grin of a kid at Christmas time. She was being spoiled rotten, as the only kid in the little clan formed on bonds of love.

"It feels weird that I haven't seen most them in two weeks," Tony said, as he waved back at Amira. He matched her smile. "I mean, you go from seeing people nearly every day."

He had finished up with the team, two weeks ago, cashing in some vacation time. Choosing to have two weeks off, for the first time in a long time. The last time, he had been away from work for so long, was that summer that they handed in their badges. How long ago, that already felt. How he feared how much had changed.

"We were supposed to see them for Hanukkah," Ziva murmured. Her voice wore no anger, but perhaps a touch of sadness. She had wanted to celebrate Hanukkah with her loved ones. One day, she would share the joy of the festival of lights, with their own children.

Schmeil had found an excuse to fly stateside, and had joined them for the second night of Hanukkah, along with his father, as well as Leyla and Amira. The others were supposed to join them, but found themselves knee-deep in a particularly awful case. A young marine had been unable to shed his past, and found himself caught up in drugs, once he returned home after a deployment.

With the team stuck on a case, the celebrations had been smaller, but no less joyful. Ziva had made nosies about perhaps having them over again, as Hanukkah had the benefit of being eight nights, but it had never come to fruition. Instead, Tony and Ziva, had done to Rachael and Jo's for the last night of Hanukkah, enjoying a slightly offbeat celebration. Enjoy dosas and curry, along with latkes and familiar songs.

"Yeah," he said. Swallowing thickly.

He felt so nervous. His stomach ached. He had been nervous since he woke this morning. Barely eating, causing Ziva to question his health. He had said nothing then, hoping this feeling would pass. Dread lined his stomach, and rose up his throat. It was the strongest of biles, burning his throat.

"I feel like I abandoned them," Tony said. His voice cracking. It hurt him to finally say this. To finally put his feelings into word.

The heating in the car hummed. Ziva rubbed her leg, trying to warm up. Her tights were not thick enough for the cool weather. She refused to wear the full denier ones, claiming they made her look like she should be herding six kids, and covering her head.

"Is that why you brought so many Christmas presents?" Ziva asked.

Senior santa sack, was filled with little nick-nacks for everyone. He had braved the mall many times, to get something special. Gothic jewellery for Abby. Books for Amira. Expensive booze for Gibbs. Baby gifts for the not-yet-born Palmer spawn. The adults generally had a secret santa type gift giving activity, where everyone only got one gift for one other adult. Minimising both spending and the agony of having to go Christmas shopping.

"No," he said dragging the word out. "Besides, most of them are for Amria, and for the Palmer bambino."

Tony and his father had gone up to New York, on one of the days leading up to Christmas to enjoy the city at Christmas time, and buy gifts for everyone. How else could he tell everyone, who had been part of his life for so long, and kept him going when things looked bleak, how much he loved them all. How much he could not imagine life without them. How much he hoped, they would not drift apart now that he had left them.

The presents were not even enough.

"I felt guilty too," Ziva said, her eyes looking out into the distance. White snow had covered the quiet suburban street. One of the houses down the street had garish Christmas lights the reflected in the snow. "Especially, because I left so suddenly. At least you gave notice, and gave everyone time to adjust. You had closure, and you gave everyone closure."

He had gone, leaving drinks on two Fridays beforehand, and had spent his first free weekend in months, nursing a killer hangover, courtesy of Abby insisting on shots. She seemed to have the alcohol tolerance, of a sorority girl on Spring break, despite her age. He had sat on the couch the morning after, vowing never to drink again, while Ziva shot him disbelieving looks.

"Nobody blamed you," he said softly. They had this conversation a few times now. "You had to get out, for yourself."

She had to jump away from the flames, before they burnt her. Parts of her were already fraying at the edges. She had been so close to imploding.

"And nobody blames you," Ziva said, her voice confident and sure. "You made a choice. We are a family, even if we do not all work at the same place."

Family is more that just DNA.

"Dorney got a concussion last week," Tony said, trying and failing to keep his voice neutral. "He took my place."

Donrey had been hanging around the team, subbing in, since all of them took summer vacations the previous July. Then he stuck around, as each member of the team, needed to take some personal tim: Tony for his and Ziva's loss, Ellie for her separation, and for Tim to say goodbye to his father. Dorney had been expected to be Tony's successor, but he had declined the offer to take Tony's place, because his fiance, had a job opportunity in California. Ned was going to follow his heart, and head west, and had a job lined up at the San Diego office. A new agent, had finally been agreed to by both Gibbs and Vance, and was starting in the New Year. The new agent, had a history in undercover ops, and would hopefully balance out McGee and Ellie's superbrains with his street smarts.

"I know," Ziva said. "But he is fine. It is part of the job, yes?"

Dorney had been back to work the next day, and the drug addicted Marine had been caught.

"Yeah," he agreed.

How many times, had he said that, as he sat in an ER, with his head spinning, or blood on his hands. Narrowly escaping death, to fight another day.

"This will get easier," Ziva declared. "It will take time."

"Everything always does," he muttered. His voice heavy.

How many times had they repeated this mantra too each other.

"I am serious," Ziva replied. "This time last year, I felt like you do now. Especially, because I was not really doing anything."

On paper, she was only working a couple of mornings a week, at the poorly paid translation job, and taking a couple of online classes through college. However, on the inside she was doing a lot of work. She still had weekly therapy appointments, and was doing those ballet classes, trying to reclaim parts of herself that had been taken. Now, a year later, her class load was heavier, and the therapy sessions had been cut-back again, despite a brief increase after the miscarriage. The ballet classes had fallen off her calender, having worked that out of her system, but she felt closer to her childhood self. She still worked at the translation helpdesk, translating medical instructions and tax forms, but also helped out at Leyla's organisation, helping women study for their American citizenship tests. How proudly she spoke about those two small jobs, and the difference she was making in these womens lives. Life was a journey, and she felt like she was finally moving forward.

"So you feel better now?" he asked.

He wondered what things would look like in a years time. He and Ziva would be married. The baby Palmer would be here. Delilah would be back home, maybe wearing a ring of her own. He knew McGee had been looking at designs. Maybe, this grand feast would not be at Gibbs house, but at his and Ziva's house. They had started half-looking at houses again. Wanting to build a white picket fence life. The lease on Ziva's apartment around the same time as the wedding, and they were still deciding if they were going to renew the lease for another year.

Maybe, he would finally be at peace.

"Yes," Ziva declared. "I still feel that pang, when I hear about somebody we used to work with getting hurt. Sometimes, I look at clock, and wonder if the team are still at work, especially when I am tucked into bed. I worry for them."

He nodded. He too had felt these pangs. He felt that wave of guilt, as he enjoyed the slowness of these weeks off. As he enjoyed eating at nearly the same time every night.

"But I know, I have not abandoned them. I have taken a different path," Ziva continued, a confidence creeping into her voice. "I know the team do not think I have abandoned them, because I left the job. They support my choices, and understand them, or at least I hope they do."

They did. He knew that. It had taken some of them, namely Abby to get used to the idea of Ziva, and later Tony working in different places, but she had got there. Family, was more than DNA. Family was more than the job.

"I know that," he said, softly. "At least logically. It's just hard. "

"I know you do," Ziva said. "I know this is hard. If today gets too much, we can go."

"No," he said quickly. He had not seen most of these people for two weeks, he missed them. "I want to be here, I want to spend Christmas with my family."

He wanted Abby's warm arms wrapped around him. He wanted Ducky's long stories, about Christmases of years past. He wanted Gibbs gruff nod, as they toasted the feast.

He wanted it all.

"Okay," she said, voice soft but warm. "I am sure Gibbs would not mind, if we took some quiet time."

"Are you gonna be okay?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she replied. She ran her hand through her hair, a nervous tic.

"Breena's there," he uttered. "You got really quiet, when we saw them last time."

Ziva turned slightly, looking out to distance. Thanksgiving had been nearly month ago, which had been the last time they had seen them. Breena and Jimmy, usually saw her extended family for Thanksgiving, but had used her pregnancy to get out of the visit, claiming the doctor had forbidden Breena from flying. The pregnancy had made the Palmer's more assertive when it came, to boundaries with their extended families.

"Do you think she noticed?" Ziva asked, her voice hiking up.

"Nah," he said confidently. Not really sure. "She doesn't know you, like I do."

Ziva ran her hand over her lap. Nobody knew her like he did. Nobody made her feel so secure. She knew nobody else like she knew him.

"I try not to think about it," Ziva started, her voice becoming heavy, like her heart. "But, we would have only been a couple of months behind them. Sometimes when I see her, it is hard to think about anything else."

He nodded. Last time he had seen Breena, in full bloom, he had wondered what Ziva would have looked like with a similar roundness under her shirt. Would Ziva be complaining of backache and heartburn? Would they had opted to find out the sex, unlike the Palmers, who favoured a delivery room surprise.

"I know," he said softly. "I think about it sometimes too."

He too had found himself struck with those thoughts. Christmas involved children big and small. When buying Christmas and Baby Shower presents for this upcoming child, he had found himself burying his nose in the tiny onesies, and holding the little booties. This could have been them.

One day it would be them.

"This will pass, with time," Ziva uttered. Repeating it again. Perhaps she said it for him, perhaps for her.

"Everything always does," he said softly. He realised he had said it again, but the old mantra ran true.

"We should go inside," Ziva said, as she looked toward the door.

Gibbs had opened it, and was walking toward them, dressed only in his winter sweater, despite the freezing temperatures. A mason jar of bourbon in his hand. He used the other hand to try and usher them inside.

 _Come in kids. Come home. Everyone's waiting._

Tony patted Ziva's thigh, and then grabbed the latch to open the door.

 _Come all ye faithful._

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Sorry, about the delay in postings. My job is using a lot of mental space at the moment, which doesn't leave a lot of room for writing, and is effecting the quality of the writing. It will pass. I'm working on ways to fix it, (escape it).

It is really weird writing about Christmas in July.

Thank you for all the lovely reviews, faves and follows. Thanks for the kind reviews in the last chapter especially. I'll reply to some of the non-guest reviews soon.

Next chapter will feature Abby and Ziva. In this fic, I have it my head that Nick will be Tony's replacement, but I've not seen an episode with him in it. So, I might name check him, but he won't get more than a passing mention.

There will be three more chapters, after this. I hope everyone is enjoying the ride. It certainly has been a long one, and quite the rollercoaster.


	32. A Vision in White

Ziva felt the steam of her tea on her face. It was cheap tea, probably added to the coffee shops menu as a postscript, to appear inclusive. The tea tasted no better than it smelt. It was too hot, and burned the roof of her mouth slightly.

The coffee shop was located in the one of the old Victorian arcades that litter the older districts of DC. The shops face each other, and are close together. Despite the ornate decoration, of red and gold, her mind drifts to the old city of Jaffa. Of the thick oppressive heat of a warm summer. She thinks of the little cafes. The men outside watching the world go by. Ziva and Tali snaking through the streets, while their mother tried to find the bits of herself their father had not taken.

"I mean it's weird," Abby babbled. She's been talking for a little while now, Ziva has been listening on-and-off. "I just got so used to having Tony there, and I mean Nick's great but it's different you know?"

Abby never did well with change. Ziva knew that Abby had taken a long time, to get over Ziva leaving the team. Now, almost a year and a half later, Abby was at peace with the whole thing.

"Yes," Ziva said.

She looked outside the window of the coffee shop. This arcade is filled with specialty shops. Across from the coffee shop, is a bridal boutique. The one that Ziva has an appointment with in fifteen short minutes.

"Tony's texting less," Abby said, also looking outside the window. "I guess he's settling in."

It's been three weeks since Tony started at Fletc. Ziva has finally gotten used to have him come home soon after her. It had been strangely wonderful to discuss their days over a dinner eaten at a reasonable hour. They had managed to get so much wedding planning done. Tony seemed lighter to, a peacefulness having come over him. He was happy.

They had also used one of their free evenings to sign up for pre-marital counselling, with someone recommended by the Rabbi who would be marrying them. The counselor had written copious notes, as they explained how they had gotten together. _You two defy the odds_ , the older woman had said with a surprised smile.

"Yes," Ziva said softly. "He is making more friends. He was really not enjoying eating lunch alone."

In the first few days, she found him calling her around one pm. The other instructors at Fletc were older and stuck in their routines, and Tony was missing the instant commerdarie that came from working together with people you'd give your life for. Slowly, he started making connections, and had become buddies with one of the other younger instructors. A man who had been injured in the field, leading to the career change. The two followed the same sports teams, and had the beginnings of an easy friendship, that was starting to branch out of work. Tony had plans to watch the superbowl with his new friend.

"I miss him," Abby admitted, a frown briefly crossing her face. "But, I know this is good for him. Is he happier?"

Ziva moved her line of sight away from the dress shop. White, ivory and blush coloured gowns shone back at her. How delicate they looked, like something out of those princess books her mother had tried to read to her.

"Yes," Ziva said, thinking the animated dinners where he recounts his day. "He likes what is he doing, and many of the people he is instructing. He sees potential in many of the new agents."

"Yay," Abby said with a smile. Abby turned slightly, looking at the bridal shop.

The bridal boutique was miles away from where Ziva or Abby lived, and in an area which was a higher income bracket, than Ziva could ever dream of. However, it was well regarded for its selection. Ziva had found the website, through internet searches made when she and Tony first set a date, but deemed it too expensive at first. She had looked at other places, and even briefly browsed another store, but found herself going back to the website on her bus rides home from university.

Eventually, she had decided to at least make an appointment with the store, and see how it went. Would she say yes to the dress?

"Are you excited?" Abby asked. She was sitting down but still bouncy. Her dark hair was in her trademark pigtails.

Excited, was a strong word. There was a feeling of dread, the nawed at her stomach. She was waiting for someone to take it all away from her.

"Excited," Ziva echoed, with a heavy sigh.

"You know," Abby said, looking out to the window. The ornate designs. "Wedding dress is supposed to be every little girl's dream."

She had never been the little girl, who walked around the house in a toilet paper dress. That had been Tali. Tali who married her barbie and Ziva's GI Joe, while Ziva rolled her eyes having to sit through the tedious ceremony.

"I was never that little girl," Ziva uttered.

Breena had been that little girl. She and Ziva had talked about the dress shopping with an pure excitement, when they had all gathered for Christmas. Breena had sat with her hand resting on her huge globe-like bump. Ziva had listened as Breena described all of the wedding she had been a part in, as like Tony she had spent the summers or her late twenties attending one wedding after another as her college friends paired off. She had been a bridesmaid half a dozen times, and had a gallery of ugly bridesmaids dresses that had only been worn once. All in ridiculous pastel colours, and strapless cuts.

Breena was supposed to be with them for this. They were going to use her bridal expertise. However, at the tail end of her pregnancy, Breena only wanted to move if she had too. She was also fighting off a winter cold, which had crept in because of her low immunity.

"Neither was I," Abby replied. "I loved playing the mud. There was a scrap yard near my house, I spent so many afternoons there."

Ziva looked up at her friend with a soft smile. They so seldom spoke of their childhoods.

"I mean I thought about wedding dresses once or twice," Abby continued. "Not that I've ever been close to a wedding with anyone, but I know I'd never wear one of those poofy princessey gowns. It just wouldn't be me."

Ziva nodded. She always imagined Abby to wear a black lace wedding gown, or at least something with ornate Victorian styling. Something custom made, because Abby was not an off-the-rack kinda girl.

"That is exactly it," Ziva declared. "I would like to find a dress that is me."

"We'll find something that feels like you," Abby said with a smile.

 _You know it doesn't have to be a dress_ , Ellie had said earlier in the week, when they had met up for Krav Maga _it could be jumpsuit_.

Ellie had learnt that Jake had already started dating, mere months after the separation and wasn't really sure how she felt about it. Ellie also wondered if Jake, had started seeing his new girlfriend before he had moved out. Ziva had let Ellie vent, while correcting Ellie's technique. She had felt so silly, to rant to Ellie about her wedding dress woes. Still, Ellie had listened, and offered advice.

 _It doesn't even have to be white_ , Ellie had declared as they continue.

White wedding dresses were started by Queen Victoria, Ziva had learnt that from Schmeil during their weekly telephone call. Ziva had found herself gravitating to the off-white dresses as she trawled through website galleries of gowns. She eschewed anything strapless, but zeroed-in on capped sleeves and v-necks. Lace details, but not too many embellishments. She had a vision, of a combination of everything she had seen. Would there be a dress that matched her vision.

"I know," Ziva uttered softly. "It feels so silly to obsess over something, I will only wear once."

Yet there was so much weight on this choice. The wedding industrial complex, Ellie had called it, as the sipped post workout smoothies. Even Breena, who had been a self confessed bridezilla, had said it was all a little bit silly at the end of the day.

"It's not," Abby answered. "And you're not really obsessing."

"Tony joked I would become on of those bride-raptors," Ziva said, with a smile.

Tony was turning out to be the more tense of the two. He had more vision, when it came to the day. Ziva, perhaps because of her practical nature, or because she earnt less was more money minded. Still, the two of them had quite a tense discussion over place settings the night before.

"Bridezilla," Abby corrected softly. "And you're definitely not. Some people get really crazy, my sister-in-law was kicked out of a bridal party for being pregnant with my niece."

Ziva's eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

"Wow," was all she could manage to say.

"Her friend thought it would ruin the pictures," Abby said with a frown. " It was a long time ago, and her friend apologised a few years later, but they're not friends anymore. I've only been to a few weddings, but I've never heard of anything so crazy."

"It certainly something," Ziva whispered.

She thought for a moment, about how many weddings she had been too. One when she was a child. She had been nine or ten. The bride had been a friend of her mothers, and a few years after her divorce was marrying another single parent. She remembered her mother drinking too much, and looking longingly as the couple danced on the huge dance floor. She remembered getting mud on her dress, and her mother's scolding words on the taxi ride home.

There had been wedding invitations through the mail box, but she had never made it to the ceremony, there was always something more pressing; a mission, a case, or a tradegy. Jimmy and Breena's wedding reception, had been the closest she had ever gotten.

A few moments passed between them. Abby finished her canned soda, because the store did not sell Caf-Pow!. Ziva nibbled on her half of the pastry they were sharing.

"What do you want me to wear?" Abby asked.

Ziva frowned for a second thinking. She and Tony had decided on an inclusive ceremony, involving all of their loved ones. Everyone would walk down to the terrace together, in a parade. Abby, Ellie, McGee and Jimmy would hold the chuppah. Ducky and Schmeil would each do a reading. Tony's father would walk him down the aisle. The other guests would walk behind them. Gibbs would walk her down the aisle, at the end of the parade. The photographs would include everyone, and would be fun. The wedding would be something to look back on.

"Clothes," Ziva muttered, with a smirk on her face.

"You know what I mean," Abby said. "I need to know if I need to buy something."

Ziva understood Abby's concern. Nobody wanted to buy a dress they would only wear once.

"You can wear whatever you would like," Ziva said, with a warm smile.

She had already fielded this question from Ellie, who had asked if she and Abby needed to match. Breena had gone one step further, and asked about colours and themes. Tony had replied, that their theme was wedding, and their colours were whatever everyone ended up wearing. Ziva had watched as confusion washed over Breenas face, before the others had filled the room with laughter.

Abby was quiet for a second.

"Really," Abby said. "Even black?"

Ziva thought for a second. Black could be rather striking in the wedding pictures. Especially, if Ziva went with a white or off-white dress. It would be quite elegant.

"Of course," Ziva uttered. "Tony and I want everyone to be comfortable."

All that mattered was that all of their friends were happy, and had a good time.

"I think you might be the opposite of a bridezilla," Abby said with a smile. "Seriously, chillist bride ever."

Ziva let out a small chuckle. Abby laughed too.

A quiet fell over them. Abby ate her portion of the pastry. They had chosen to halve the treat, not out of fear of the calories, but to absorb the ridiculous price.

"Can I show you something?" Ziva asked. The voice that came out of her sounded far younger than her years.

"Of course," Abby said, with a warm smile.

Ziva picked up her bag, from under the table, and reached in.

She produced a photograph, sunbleached and age. The edges were ripped. Abby took it eagerly into her hands, and studied it.

"Is this your Mom?" Abby asked, as she looked at the photograph. Mom, sounded so American.

Ziva's parents, younger than she ever saw them, were standing under a chuppah. Ziva's father's hair was still brown, and his right arm was wrapped in a cast, from what he would later call an occupational injury. Ziva's mother was in a smock style white dress, with her dark curls loosely pulled back. The bouquet was held low, hoping to disguise a growing mid-section. Ziva had already made her presence known.

"Yes," Ziva said.

She had found the photograph as she pittered around the apartment that morning. Sleep had been evasive, the night before. With Ziva spending the night tossing and turning. She had woken early, careful not to disturb Tony. She had watched the sun rise, from the apartment. Her thoughts had turned to her mother, without warning. It had started with a craving for her ruggaleh. Then she had found herself humming one of her mother's favourite songs. By the time, Tony had gotten up, he had found the apartment a mess, and Ziva looking at the handful of photographs she had taken from the farmhouse. He had simply rubbed the sleep from his eyes, walked across to the kitchen flicked on the coffee machine, and sat next to her. Together they had shared memories of lost mothers.

"She was beautiful," Abby declared, with a huge smile on her face. "You look so much like her."

"Really," Ziva said, as she studied the photograph. Her mother looked so young. "People always say I look like my father."

"I think you look more like your Mom," Abby clarified.

"I suppose," Ziva replied.

"Do you miss her?" Abby asked. Voice soft.

"Yes," Ziva uttered, letting out a breath. "It seems I miss her more, the older I get."

Abby nodded. A heavy nod. An all-knowing nod.

"Me too," Abby admitted. "It's funny isn't it."

Abby's mother had died, during the summer where the team were split up, after Jenny's death. It had been a quick illness, but slowed down enough for Abby to fly to New Orleans and say her goodbyes, and then for the funeral. By the time, Ziva returned to the states, the storm of grief had mostly blown over. They had talked about it briefly, when Ziva had stayed over at Abby's when her apartment was being fumigated, but never since.

When Abby had discovered she was adopted, she had not rushed to find out about her biological mother. Eventually, she had asked Kyle about it, as he had not been adopted at birth, but rather had been placed in the foster care system as a toddler. He had looked for their mother, as a younger adult, but had found that a premature death had ruined any chance of a family reunion.

"Yes," Ziva said.

"We never really talk about it," Abby continued. "Not even on Mothers Day."

There had been so many Mothers Days, where they had all been together dealing with someone else's tragedy. The day always passed without comment.

"No," Ziva said. "We do not."

She and Tony talked about their mothers sometimes. Letting memories in when they knocked. Sharing their memories, over dinners, and in car rides. They vowed never to stop talking.

"I wish my mother was here," Ziva uttered, looking again across to the bridal shop. "For this."

For this.

For everything.

Her sister too.

She wanted a gaggle of women surrounding her, as she decided on a gown that made her look like a princess for a day.

Abby shifted in her seat. The conversation was heavy.

"She would have been one of those overbearing mothers," Ziva said with a smile, "She would have had an opinion about everything."

Abby laughed a little. Ziva let out a small laugh.

"Thank you for being here, Abby," Ziva finally said, as the laughter pittered out. "It is silly, but I am glad not to do this alone."

Abby's face lit up. She stood up, and walked across to Ziva's seat, and wrapped her arms around her.

The hug was warm and tight. Abby's hair tickled Ziva's face. Ziva leaned in tight.

"My pleasure," Abby replied. "It what families are for."

Family is more than just DNA.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews, and faves. I'll reply soon.

Next chapter will feature baby Palmer being born. The last chapter, will of course feature the wedding of the century.

Also to answer some guest reviews, I'm not killing Dorney in this fic. He won't feature or anything, but I'm not killing him.


	33. Looking Forward

Tony had always associated hospitals with tragedy and trauma. The anti-septic burnt his nostrils, and his thoughts drifted to his mom. Fragile before her time. Of holding her hand, as she took her final laboured breaths, while they watched a movie. He thought of that time he had the plague, how he would have clawed at the walls, if he was not so weak. He followed the bright fluorescent lights, and Ziva who was always a few steps ahead of him, walked ahead.

They were here for a happy reason. Most people in the maternity ward were there for a happy reason. Entering as twos and leaving as a group of three or more. Maternity wards were the unicorns of the hospital, nothing like the ER and ICU's Tony had been used too. The tears were of joy. The cries of pain were not futile. There would be good that came of them.

They were surrounded by new life, and it was bewildering. Everything was so fresh and new.

He and Ziva had been brought into this world, by the arrival of Victoria Elizabeth Palmer. The two of them had been among the first visitors, getting baby cuddles in when the little angel was less than a day old. They met the child before Jimmy's family who were coming from out-of-state, and their chosen family who were stuck on a case, but brimming with pure excitement.

The day was one of pure joy.

During, the quick visit Breena wore a look of exhausted serenity. Jimmy, was buzzing partly on excitement, and partly on his usual neuroticism.

"They are so happy," Tony declared, as he met Ziva at the elevator bay.

Ziva looked up at him. Her eyes were glassy. He tried to gage her mood. Happiness? Sadness?

"They are," Ziva whispered, as she moved closer to him. Wrapping her fingers in his. Her hand was clammy. She hated hospitals more than he did. Too many bad things happened in hospitals. "So very happy. She is such a beautiful child."

Ziva had been the first to hold Victoria, when her new parents offered her up. Tony perhaps unfamiliar with babies had been more hesitant. He had watched as Ziva took the baby carefully, and held her close. She had sat admiring the tiny child, who had her mother's blonde colouring, but a nose that was all Jimmy.

"Did you mean what you said to me?" Ziva asked, as she pressed the button for the elevator.

Visiting hours were winding up, so the hospital was busy. He expected to be waiting for a while, and a full elevator when it finally arrived.

"When?" he asked, as he pulled his hat from his pocket.

"When I was holding the baby," Ziva clarified.

He formed an oh with his mouth. He remembered, watching Ziva gently rock the tiny child, and whispering _looks good on you_ as he leaned close, resting his hand on the small of her back. He had noticed Jimmy and Breena smiling as they overheard Tony. They were newly indoctrinated but desperate to recruit more people to cult of parenthood.

"Yeah," he said, with a warm full-beam of a smile. "You looked like a natural, when you were holding her."

The elevator remained closed. Tony checked his watch, hoping he didn't have to pay for another hour of parking.

"I have held babies before," Ziva said, with a soft smile. "I was four when Tali was born, and there was always a new baby in the apartment block I lived in, my mother always took food to the new parents. She liked to hold babies."

The parts of her childhood, which did not feature her father, seemed so idyllic. So normal.

"I hadn't," Tony admitted.

He, after much probing from both Ziva and Jimmy had eventually taken baby Victoria into his arms. The tiny creature had been fragile, but also surprisingly dense. Tony had studied her tiny eyelids, and the way her tiny fingers curled around his big pinkie .

"Really?" Ziva asked, as the elevator came.

An older couple, with dark eyes, and glum faces. A reminder that the maternity ward still had its tough spots. Tony wondered what tragedy or almost tragedy befell the couple. A child born sleeping. A mother on in a coma. Bleeding that just did not stop. So much could go wrong.

Ziva offered the grey-haired couple a soft smile, as they breezed past. The wife's eyes were red rimmed. The husbands shoulders were heavy, with stress and worry.

"Yeah," Tony said, feeling a chill roll through him. "I mean I never had any siblings, and all of my cousins were older. Not that we really saw them much, especially after my mom died. I visited one Thanksgiving like fifteen years ago, but my cousins kids were already walking and talking by then."

The two of them stepped into the elevator. Finding the metal box empty, much to his surprise.

"What about your frat brothers?" Ziva asked. "Did you never meet any of their babies?"

He was at least a decade behind most of his peers in terms of wives and babies. Of course most of them had also weathered at least one divorce in that lost decade. His friends were grappling with trying to save for a college fund, and hopefully in a few years Tony would be worrying about dropping half a mortgage payment on daycare.

"Not really," Tony replied, realising just how old he was. It had been so long since he had seen any of those guys. "I always kinda hung back when they had kids. They didn't need me crampin' their style. Besides, parents tend to sort of hibernate in those first few years. Parenting aint the easiest job in the world."

"I have heard that," Ziva said softly.

Breena and Jimmy were technically the first of their friendship group to have a baby. Amira had been nearly four when she came to America. Much less of a baby. Not they saw the sweet child very often.

"Guess, we'll have to sign up to babysitting," Tony uttered softly. "Get more of the new baby smell. That stuff is like crack."

Ziva smiled, as the door opened to the foyer. It was busy, hospitals like New York never slept.

"You only met her once," Ziva said as they stepped into the lobby. "And you are already besotted with her."

"DiNozzo men always are by beautiful women," Tony said, as Ziva did up her coat, in preparation for walking out into the cold. She was much more sensitive to the cold.

"She has to be the youngest one that has caught you in her spell," Ziva uttered with an air of sarcasm, as they stepped through the automated doors.

 _Swish_.

There was sleet falling. It was dark. This winter seemed endless.

"Certainly is," he said, as he tried to remember where exactly he had parked the car.

They walked through the maze of cars. Careful to avoid the bad weather, and other people heading the hospital that evening. Almost nobody walked leisurely into a hospital. People were seldom there for good reasons.

"I have been thinking about babies," Ziva uttered softly, letting out a breath like she had been holding in a secret. "Quite often lately."

Tony's mind started to do math. They had only been a couple of months behind Breena and Jimmy. Would Ziva be waddling like a penguin, by now? Would they have opted to find out the sex? Would they be counting down the weeks?

"Yeah," Tony said softly. "How you feeling? I know seeing Tori might have brought up some stuff."

Ziva gripped his hand tightly, and stopped him speaking.

"I will not lie," she said, as they located the car. "When I held little Tori, I did think about the miscarriage. I had some pangs of jealousy, but I was happy for our friends. They wanted their baby so much."

They had worked so hard for that baby. So much heartbreak had come before her arrival.

"I know," he said, as he let go of her hand, and fiddled with the fob in his pocket opening the car.

 _Click click._

Ziva took the seat next to him and pressed her seatbelt together.

 _Click click._

"I was thinking about the future," Ziva said, as Tony started the car. The warm whoosh of heat filling the tiny car. It was such a relief.

He finally cottoned on to what she was trying to say. She was talking about future babies. Their future babies.

"Is it too soon?" she asked, looking out into the distance. "I know you took the loss hard."

He hated the word loss. The baby had not been discarded like keys on the kitchen counter.

"No," Tony uttered softly. "Tell me what you've been thinking."

He started the car. The lights beamed into the darkness.

"I have not just been thinking," Ziva said, turning her head slightly to watch for any other cars. Drivers in a hospital parking lot weren't always the most diligent, with heads often polluted by anxious thoughts. "I spoke to my doctor, when I had my annual appointment."

He remembered her being quiet after the appointment. It was hardly the highlight of any woman's year, but for Ziva it brought up old memories. Luckily, her doctor was kind, taking the appointment slowly, and explaining every movement.

"I wanted to understand what had gone wrong," Ziva uttered.

Tony swallowed thickly. Ziva was still so hung up on the why. It had been months, yet this question still plagued her.

"You know what the doctor said," he uttered softly, trying not to sound condescending.

"I know," Ziva said, biting her lip. "I am starting to accept that."

They finally navigated toward the exit of the car park. He fed his ticket into the machine, and tried not to wince at the price. It had all been worth it, he decided, just to get a sniff of that new baby smell.

"I want us to be more prepared, when we start trying again," Ziva said delicately when they reached the open road.

He wondered what there was to be prepared about. They had fallen pregnant last time by accident. Despite Ziva being on birth control, and Ziva being told she would be unlikely to fall pregnant without assistance. That had been quite a shock for two people who had gotten through life without getting pregnant. Eventually, they had worked out that Ziva's birth control had been affected by antibiotics she had been on before their trip to Italy.

"You mean like financially?" Tony asked.

They were currently working through the money sessions of the pre-marriage counselling sessions. Tony had been dubious of the sessions at first, as the two of them had already been through so much, and in his words they were not twenty-three year old mormons. Still, they had found benefits. They were finally, talking about things that they thought would just happen. To formalise plans as they counselor had put it.

"I would not talk to my doctor about that," Ziva said softly.

"No," he uttered. "Guess not."

Finances had proved to be sore point for the pair of them. Ziva was insecure about her limited income for the time being, despite the money her father had left behind. Tony had started blabbering about his father, and he did not want to end up like him. He never wanted to have debt collectors or creditors calling his wife. They were still talking through the issues that had been raised.

 _I'm not my Dad_ , he had said as they drove home that evening. His voice cracking. _I would always support my family; financally and otherwise._

"I talked to her about timelines, and prenatal vitamins," Ziva said, her voice becoming clinical like it used to on cases. "She suggested that I start taking prenatal vitamins before we start trying, and I get healthy for the pregnancy. She also wants me to make sure that I do not lose any weight, and suggested that I limit my alcohol when we get closer to trying."

Tony watched her through the rearview mirror. She ran her hands over her lap. Soothing the emotions this conversation brought up.

"The miscarriage didn't happen because you didn't start taking vitamins before we found out," he said, a frown on his face. Wishing she could move past this. "It's not your fault."

None of this was her fault. These things just happen, that's what the doctors had said.

"I know. The doctor told me this," Ziva said her voice getting quieter with each word, "But it could not hurt to be more prepared next time, no?"

It probably could not.

Still, he did not want her to obsess over this.

"I 'spose," he muttered.

Ziva shuffled in her seat. They stopped at a traffic light. It stayed red forever.

"The doctor thinks it might take longer," Ziva said swallowing thickly. "Next time."

He nodded. Ziva looked down at her lap.

"It was such a fluke last time," Ziva continued. "Even the doctor was surprised, with my history."

He remembered, those conversations in the early days after the loss. _What if this never happens again? What if this was our only chance?_

"Whatever happens," he mumurmed. "We'll get through it."

For better, and for worse. In sickness and in health. Til death do them part.

"I know," she said, as she turned to look up at him.

He felt her eyes on his face. There was more to say, but she was struggling to say.

"I want us to start trying, by this time next year," she said. "After the wedding, sooner rather than later."

This time next year, they would be married. Wearing matching rings. Their September wedding date, was fast approaching.

"I will be nearly done with my degree by then," Ziva continued, returning to a clinical tone. Trying to separate herself from this difficult conversation, ever so slightly . "We probably would not be pregnant by then, but I would like us to try. My age is starting to be concern, no?"

She had been thirty-two on her last birthday. He had taken her out to a fancy meal, and enjoyed their time together. She had worn those earrings that he had brought her last Valentine's day, and wore a smile the whole evening.

"I don't think a few months will make a difference," he said softly, as they started to reach a familiar part of the city. "We can wait until you're one hundred per cent done with school."

He remembered how sick she had been, in those few weeks between finding out about the pregnancy and the loss. She had been like a zombie. Pale, and fatigued.

"Maybe not," Ziva said, with a shrug. "But if there are issues, and we have to get treatment, it could be a long road. You wanted to have children in the next few years, no?"

"We want to have children in the next few years," he clarified.

They had talked about children in a previous pre-marital counselling session. Agreeing on a vague timeline, once Ziva was out of school. He still harbored visions of Ziva with a basketball under her graduation gown.

"Perhaps," Ziva uttered softly, letting the words wash over her. "I just do not want to miss the boat. I know how much you want children."

He felt his heart in his chest. Hadn't they had an almost identical conversation a year ago.

"Those words sound familiar," he declared, as they stopped at another red light. They were catching them all on this drive home.

Ziva's mouth formed an 'o'. A soft chuckle slipped from her lips. A chuckle brewed from nerves.

"I guess today has brought up more than I thought it would," she declared. "I am so happy for Jimmy and Breena, I do not want to taint that. Today is a happy day."

He nodded. Today was a happy day.

"It's okay," he said, offering her a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. "You know I'm ready to have babies with you, the minute you say the word."

The car started moving again. Gliding through the near empty streets, making a woosh sound.

"You were much more ready last time," Ziva said softly. Her voice heavy, weighed down by guilt.

"I had less going on than you did," he said. The words tasting like deja vu. "Besides, you're the one who has to do the heavy lifting in the beginning. Getting pregnant changes more for you. Childbirth doesn't sound like a walk in the park."

Breena had given them a particular graphic account of her childbirth. Apparently the epidural had proved useless. Jimmy had nearly lost a finger, as she gripped his hand for dear life. Jimmy had shrugged this all off, none of it mattered in the end. They had a baby. A healthy baby.

"Maybe, we should talk about this another time," Ziva offered. "Maybe, this time next year."

They were pretty good at talking, a feat for two people who had spent so many years with tight lips, and locked-down hearts.

"Let's not leave it too long," he said softly, wanting to keep the door open. "I like your plan, I just don't want us to get fixated on it."

He did not want the two of them to be a couple who scheduled sex, and counted days. He did not want every period, to lead to complete meltdown with its lack of results. He wanted it to be like it was in the movies, with a child being conceived out of love, from moments of togetherness and tenderness. Maybe, they could start being 'less careful' as Tori Palmer approached her first birthday, and get serious if there was no sign of pregnancy by their first wedding anniversary.

Ziva nodded. A silence filled the car. They seldom played the radio, when they drove together. They always seemed to find something to talk about. They vowed never to stop talking.

The neon clock on the dashboard, told them the time. Way later, than they were usually out on a school night. They hadn't even had dinner yet. He could not remember if there was leftovers in the fridge. Maybe they could stop at a drive-thru on the way home.

"Our babies are gonna be way cuter, than autopsy gremlin's spawn," Tony declared, letting a smile cross his face, as he thought of tiny little hands. "And, they'll be well worth the wait."

He thought of tiny bundles of baby DiNozzo; dark hair, tiny fingers, and that sweet new baby smell. Her nose over his mouth. He wanted it all.

A smile crossed Ziva's face. Then a half-laugh slipped out of her.

"They will," she uttered, willing it into to universe. Her voice was soft and soothing, trying to soothe her own worries. "They definitely will."

 **A/N** :I don't own a thing.

Sorry, I thought I was going to have this up last week, but life happened.

Thanks for all the love, reviews and faves. The support has been amazing.

The other day, I checked the reviews over 280, wow! That's like 8.5 per chapter. It's the most I've ever gotten. I try not to fixate on numbers, but with so much of fanfic is subjective. It's nice to have an objective measure. This fic has been such a journey, and I know not all plot points were as popular as others, but thanks for hanging in there.

The next chapter will be lucky last. It will feature the T/Z wedding #happyendings. It will be up in a week or two. Over nine months after the first chapter was uploaded, sorry for dragging this out. I really cannot thank you enough for wanting to be part of this journey. Especially, when it's been five years since Cote was even on the show.

I don't know if I will continue with this 'series', but I do have ideas for other T/Z fics. So, once this fic is done watch this space.


	34. And, This Is Where We Leave Them

Tony smiled, as he looked around the sunroom at the vineyard. It was a Saturday night, the eve of his wedding. They had decided to make a weekend of the wedding, as the actual ceremony fell on a Sunday afternoon, as per Jewish laws. All of their guests, were staying in the BnB on the vineyard Saturday through to Sunday. The happy couple were only staying until Monday, opting to take a longer honeymoon in the spring, when Ziva had a break during classes.

Officially, they were having a rehearsal dinner on the warm Saturday night, though there was little discussion of the actual ceremony. Instead, Tony and Ziva were surrounded by nearly twenty of their favourite people, celebrating this new journey. Food had been shared. Wine had been drunk. Stories had been told. The night had been long, and joyful.

"This time tomorrow we'll be married," Tony whispered, leaning over to be closer to her. She smelt like cocoa-butter and garlic from their dinner.

They were so close. They were almost there.

Schmeil was sitting with baby Tori on his knee. The oldest person they knew with the youngest. The other guests watched, as Jimmy snapped a picture. Tori, now seven months old, a chubby almost tolder, but had fallen asleep in Schmeil's arms.

"We will," Ziva said, cupping her hand on his face. Her engagement ring shone in the candlelight.

Tim and Delilah were sitting at the other end of the table, completely engrossed in one another. It had been three months since Delilah had come back from her secondment. Things had been difficult at first, with the two of them learning to be around each other again. Still, time proved to be the great healer, and Tony had no doubt that they would be dancing at the Fielding-McGee wedding next year. He had even offered to help Tim scout the perfect ring.

"Are you nervous?" Tony asked.

They only had a few more moments. The other guests had started to retire. Ducky had already gone to sleep. Leyla had taken Amira to bed. Breena gingerly took little Tori from Schmeil's lap, and the Palmers waved goodbye to the group, walking toward the door. Jimmy's hand on the small of Brenna's back, while Breena held Tori to her hip.

That would be them one day, Tony thought. Willing it into the universe.

"No," Ziva said shaking her head for emphasis. She was wine tipsy. "Are you?"

Gibbs, Schmeil and Senior stood up, and clinked glasses. One last nightcap Senior had declared. Schmeil clapped his hands and said L'Chaim. Toasts were exchanged. Laughter shared.

"No," he said.

Abby and Ellie stood up and motioned to Ziva, before erupting into giggles. Their wedding was a mix of traditions, and one that they had decided to keep, was that the two of them would be seperated the night before the wedding, with Abby, Ellie and Ziva getting ready together the next day. Ziva had not opted for bridesmaids, but Ellie and Abby had stepped up anyway.

"I am excited," Ziva whispered softly, as she started to get up. Tony tugged at her wrist. Wanting just a few more moments. It had been months since they had slept separately. "Very excited."

He leaned up, and kissed Ziva on the lips. A peck. A promise.

"Save the kissing for the big day, kids," Senior hollered from the other end of the room.

Ziva broke off the kiss. Offered him a smile, and started to get up. Giving him a tiny peck, before walking away.

He watched as Abby, Ellie and Ziva walked out of the sunroom, closing the door behind them.

Gibbs and Schmeil quickly offered their goodbyes. Schmeil shook Tony's hand, before wrapping him a tight hug. Squeezing Tony tight. Gibbs offered a curt wave and followed Schmiel out of the room.

"We better hit the hay, Dad," Tony declared.

Instead Senior sat down next to his son, and patted him on the knee.

"I never thought I'd see this day," Senior mumumred.

"I know," Tony replied. "Took me a while. Guess, I was just waiting for the right person."

"I always knew you'd get married Junior," Senior said, letting out a breath. "I wasn't always sure if I'd be invited."

Tony looked down at his shoes. The truth stung.

"I dunno," Tony said. "But that doesn't matter now, it's water under the bridge. I'm glad you're here. So is Ziva."

Senior nodded. Things were moving forward. They were mending fences.

"Any fatherly advice?" Tony asked. "What's happening tomorrow is kinda a big deal."

"I'd say don't make my mistakes," Senior said. "But, I know you won't."

"I hope not," Tony said.

 _We won't make our parents mistakes_ , he and Ziva had said confidently in the pre-marital counselling. The lines of communication would be kept open.

"I know you won't," Senior repeated. "Parents always want their kids to be better than them, and you are. I'm proud of you."

 _You are a good man_ , Ziva had said. How many times had she said that too him. She had such faith in him.

"Also make sure you eat," Senior started. "You don't want your stomach growling, while you're saying your vows."

"You speaking from experience?" Tony asked. The buzz of the beer had gone away, and Tony felt suddenly sober. In less than twenty-four hours he'd be married. Tony DiNozzo, of all the people in the world would be married.

"Yep," Senior replied. "Denise and I were on shaky ground before we walked down the aisle, the extra voice at the aisle didn't help. Don't think we lasted beyond the honeymoon."

Tony couldn't remember where Denise fit in the list of wives. Had he even met Jeanie, he was not sure.

"Tomorrow's a big day," Senior declared letting out a breath. "Goodnight Junior."

"Night Dad," Tony replied.

* * *

Ziva David had never been the little girl who planned her wedding. Even as a child she had bigger things to contend with; her parents crumbling marriage, her father's long absences, and the growing threat in the streets. She was not even nine when Saddam Hussein sent his rockets, gift wrapped for Tel Aviv. She remembered her mother holding her tight, the night those fell.

Then quite unexpectedly she became an adult, where she found herself living a completely different life than she could have ever imagined, she had not believed she would be the type to marry. She had never dreamed of dressing like a princess, not fretted over colour schemes. Perhaps, if she were less religious she might have even gone down to city hall, and got married her cargo pants. Perhaps the Ziva of a few years ago might have done, no doubt heading off to marry the wrong man.

Still, as she walked toward the room set aside for yichud. The wedding had been a mix of her traditions and his. Tony's clammy hand was clasped around hers. She thought of all the moments of the wedding she would remember.

The early morning walk with Schmeil, where they talked about who would be missing, and joyus this very occasion was, both promising not to forget that.

The hug with Gibbs, as they reached the chuppah, how he'd leaned into her ear and whispered _proud of ya, kid_. All she had ever wanted was for her father to be proud of her.

The smiling faces of Abby, McGee, Jimmy and Ellie as they held the chuppah. Ziva's body had felt warm with all the love. They were so loved. Love was given so freely.

She thought of how Tony's eyes had welled up as he said his words had shook, and she knew they had been said with love. She too had felt a tear slip down her face, as she promised him forever.

She remembered Schmeil's delightful little squeal as they broke the glass. Little Tori had joined him in declaring the joy with a shriek, Amira had blown the bubbles they had given her to occupy her. There was already so much joy, and they still had the reception to go.

"We're married," Tony murmured, as they stepped into the room. Closing the door behind them. Their first moments as husband and wife, would be private.

There they stood, mere meters from the threshold. Facing each other. His hands found their natural place at her waist, and she leaned into him. Pulling him close. His shirt might wrinkle, and she knew some of curls had fallen loose, but she did not care. They still had photographs to take, but none of it mattered.

"Yes, we are," Ziva purred.

Logistically, little would be changing. Ziva had opted not to go through the hassle of changing her name, mostly because of the bureaucracy involved, but also because she was the last one left. The two of them already lived together, so had requested no gifts, as they had quite enough plates between them. Yet, oddly enough things just felt different.

They were married. Husband a wife. For better, and for worse.

"Who'd have thought," Tony uttered. She leaned over resting her head on his chest. His heartbeat providing a soothing rhythm.

She smiled thinking of the vows they had made. Not just today, but long ago. In sickness and in health. For richer for poorer. Til death do them part.

"It took us long enough, no?" Ziva said softly. Feeling her breath vibrate off his chest.

A decade of friendship. Eight of those as partners. Just over two years of dating. A long-enough engagement. It was all gravy now.

"What do we do now?" Tony asked, softly. "I'll have my nights and weekends free."

Ziva looked up at him. He had carried most of the weight in wedding planning, taking more of an interest in colour schemes, and having more of a 'vision' of their big day. With his not-so-new job at Fletc, he also had more free time, unlike Ziva who carrying a heavy course load, and two part-time jobs. She had also done a internship over the summer, leaving Tony to choose between ivory and eggshell napkins.

"We did just put an offer, on that house," she reminded him.

They had almost signed for another year on their lease, deciding a house could wait. After all, they had their whole lives. Then Jimmy and Breena had brought a house, and the seed had been watered. Quickly growing out of control, how could they possibly put house ownership on hold for another year, after all they had the downpayment just sitting there.

Quickly, the two of them had started looking at real-estate listings in between wedding stuff. Jimmy referred his realtor, and they ended up looking at only a handful of houses before falling in was a modest colonial, similar to many houses in the state. It had three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, and a finished basement. It was an extra seven hundred square feet than the apartment, but felt glacial. They would have a closet each. They would have a guest bedroom, until they filled the place with a kids.

"Yeah," Tony said with a satisfied smile. He had found now that he worked normal hours, that he did not enjoy being idle. "And its needs a bit of work."

Almost all of the work was cosmetic. Every room needed a fresh coat of paint, and Tony had visions of turning the daylight basement into a movie room.

"Let's not think of that," Ziva hummed. "Let's just take a moment. I am excited for the rest of our lives, but I do not want to forget this moment."

Ziva was on track to graduate the following June, and she was hoping to get a job at the organisation she had interned at, which helped refugee and vulnerable migrant women settle in America. It gave them a place to start. Ziva had also stopped using birth control, and they were planning to officially start trying for a baby, in the new year. They had dreams of toddler hands, and little curls. She hoped such a dream would become reality without too much heartbreak.

"Me too," he whispered, placing a quick kiss on her forehead. "I love you."

Love is patient. Love is kind.

"I love you," Ziva whispered.

A knock at the door disturbed their quiet moment. Yichud was over.

"DiNozozo's let's party," Schmeil called from the otherside of the door.

* * *

Tony ran his hand over his face, trying to banish the tiredness, which was a permanent companion. Once upon a time, he had worked eighty hour weeks, with odd hours, but he had never been as tired as he was now. Trying to manage, a house, a first grader, and a toddler was exhausting. Yet, he and Ziva kept finding a way to add to it. Ziva was doing her masters degree online, and they had a serious conversation about getting a dog, the weekend before.

Tony looked into the oven, to determine if dinner was done. It was some sort of pasta bake, made over the weekend then frozen, it was an attempt by Ziva to hide vegetables among cheese and pasta. Still, Tali at five and a half, had inherited her parents investigative skills, and could find the smallest slither of zucchini among the thickest clump of cheese and pasta.

"Daddy," Talia whined from the table, from the otherside of the kitchen. She was sitting on the bench behind the table, colouring in a Rosh Hashanah picture, she had acquired from the Jewish after school care she went to. "I'm hungry."

"Me too," Tony replied. His stomach growled for emphasis. He looked at the clock on the oven, Ziva would be home any moment. Dinner would be done in about two minutes.

"Sammy's got his food," Talia continued getting up from her seat and standing in front of her little brother. She reached across, and snuck a peace of cubed cheese from his segmented toddler plate.

Ziva had been insistent on adding the 'a' to Tali's name when they named her. To make it sound more American, she had said in the haze of the delivery room. Also, as an effort to save her from her namesakes fate. It did not matter anyway, because both her parents called her Tali.

Samuel was sitting in his high chair. Playing with the food on his plate. His chubby fingers wrapped around the carrot stick. Samuel was a mere days away from his second birthday, having been born just a few days after Tony and Ziva's fifth anniversary. Tony proclaimed it to be the best present ever. Once, Ziva had recovered from the emergency c-section, and Sammy's condition had stabilized, she had agreed. Despite, the scary birth, with Sammy's heart stopping twice. The sweet child was now the picture of good health.

Sammy, was their quiet child to Tali's loudness and extraversion. Sammy with his dark curls and serious expressions, was their much wanted second child, the one they did not think they would have after another miscarriage when Tali was eighteen months old. Sammy, when he had finally arrived, had completed their family.

Sammy knowing that he was being talked about started to make noise. Part bable. Part sentence.

Right on cue, the door from the back porch opened, and Ziva stepped through the door. Her work backpack on her shoulder. Car keys jangling in her hand.

"Ima," Tali squealed, forgetting all about her hunger for a second.

Currently, they had a system for managing the house. Tony started work earlier in order to do the after school pick up, while Ziva started work later to do the drop off. Their modest little house, was organised chaos on a good day, and sheer horror on a bad one. The perps Tony used to deal with seemed mild, compared to the kids when they were hungry or tired.

"Moteks," Ziva called. Slipping her backpack off, and walking toward her children with open arms.

She picked Sammy out of his highchair and hitched on her hip. Tali reached up, and hugged her mother, her dirty hands leaving marks on Ziva's white blouse. It was a rookie mistake, wearing light colours with the kids around.

Tony smiled, while he watched the scene from the otherside of the kitchen island.

The oven timer dinged. The dishwasher hummed. The dryer buzzed. A basket of clean laundry sat on the armchair next to the piano, it remained unsorted. This their was life.

Ziva sent Tali to wash her hands, and placed a clingy Sammy back in his chair.

She grabbed the plates, as Tony put the dish on a butchers block. He scanned the kitchen for slotted spoon, remembered it was in the dishwasher and reached for the ladle instead.

"Happy anniversary," he whispered, as Ziva moved closer.

Tali was singing as she washed her hands in the half-bathroom by the back-porch. The door was ajar. Tali had not inherited her namesakes voice. The disney song she was singing, from the latest kids movie, burned Tony's ears. They had heard it thrice-daily since the movie came out.

"I saw the flowers," she said, looking across to the coffee table in the living room, where the vase of fresh flowers sat. Tony wondered how long it would be, before they ended up on the floor. "Thank you."

Seven years. It had been seven years since they had tied the knot, with all their family cheering. Their family had contracted and expanded since then.

Schmeil had passed away peacefully, with Ziva by his side to say her final goodbyes, mere days after finding out they were finally pregnant with Tali, and only a few short weeks after Ziva graduated college.

Ducky had come dangerously close, and twice now the family had gathered ready to say goodbye, but so far the old man hung on.

Jimmy and Breena had skirted dangerously close to separation, with Jimmy spending a couple of nights in the DiNozzo basement. The couple had fallen victim, to all of the fights couples had and in quick sucession; money, in-laws and kids. Still, after nearly a year of marriage counselling they seemed to be on the right track. Everyone hoped they had weathered the storm.

Delilah and McGee had married, two summers after Tony and Ziva, and had welcomed a son Jack five months later, with Delilah almost dying during the delivery.

Ellie had remarried over the summer, finding love with another NCIS agent, and they now worked out of the New Orleans office. Ellie had also recently announced she was pregnant, much to her joy.

Leyla had brought a house, gotten her Masters degree, and her organisation was doing well. Amira was a growing teenager, with a talent for words and college plans.

Abby had brought a duplex, and was also the besotted owner of a dog named Spider. She rented the other half of her duplex out to families, who had just come out of homelessness, at a rent that was far less than market. She was also seeing a kind man, she had met at the dog park.

Gibbs had retired, and was as close to happy as a grumpy old man like him would be.

Senior, was a doting grandfather trying to make up for past mistakes. He came over at least once a week, and would be babysitting the following Saturday so Tony and Ziva could celebrate their anniversary in style.

"I saw the wine," Tony muttered. They did not usually drink on a school night, but today was an exception. "We should toast."

Tali rushed down the hall into the kitchen.

"I'm hungry," she whined. Sammy, on cue also started to squeal.

"Ima," he cried out.

Ziva smiled, and moved to the seat next to her son. He fought to get out of his highchair, and Ziva picked him out, sitting him on her lap. She fed him a carrot stick from his plate.

Tali moved to her seat. Eventually, all the plates were deposited on the table, with Tali eagerly digging in.

Tony finally returned to the table, with the wine and two glasses. He poured the two glasses, listening as Tali recounted her day with much detail. Her parents half-listened, knowing they would not get word in edgewise even if they did.

Tony held his glass up, and Ziva faced him with a smile. Their glasses clinked.

"Happy anniversary," Ziva declared, with a smile on her face.

They had said this seven times now, and the words never got old. The first time had been, at the vineyard where they had married. They were there on their 'babymoon' with the pregnancy not yet visible. The second anniversary, had been spent trying to calm a colicy Tali. Their third had resulted in the short-lived pregnancy between Tali and Sammy. Their fourth had been spent with a grizzly Tali in a hotel room, by the beach. Their fifth, had been spent with Ziva trying to induce labour to evacuate Sammy. The sixth, had been spent with two sick kids, and Tony promising Ziva a childfree weekend away, which had yet to happen.

"To many more," Tony replied, leaning in for a kiss. Ziva smiled and kissed him.

"Gross," Tali declared, though neither of her parents were sure if it was because of the kissing or because of the tiny slither of spinach she has found in her pasta bake.

Tony and Ziva broke apart from their kiss, and started to laugh.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing. I wish I did.

Well folks, that's a wrap. Thanks so much for all of the love. I'm always amazed when I see reviews, and favourites on this fic. I saw it on twitter, the other day. Thanks so much. Thank you friends, whether you left one review or one on almost every chapter. I have never received so many reviews before. I have also never written so much. It's been such a period of growth for me, as a writer. Thank you for the support.

Thank so much; JamacianTIVALover, Fred, Sue Dooley, sl_53211, DS2010, HippieChick81, ttiva, Allie, Celestrial Moon, Safara Bellamy, -carlota, misspatchesmom, ninjacom, Syrae, Tivahoneybears, rosali sobreira, Mandy-muis, B, Gabrielle Spaziano, kfink77, tyraleanne, Bkeh, zats, toyataylor160, krg11, licaro, niki. , tivarulesingreece, diana, and all the guest(s).

I'm not sure, when I'll write for this universe again. Hence, adding the little epilogue. I have a few ideas, but I'm not sure if people will still want to read them, especially as it's so far out of cannon. The main idea, I'm working through at the moment, is the summer where Schmeil dies and Ziva and Tony discover they are pregnant with Tali, but I'm not sure how that will turn out. I also have a couple of AU ideas, including one with Tony and Ziva having a baby while still working at NCIS and struggling with those days of early parenthood.

Also, I spend like zero time with children, so apologies for the inaccuracies with the kids. I also know, that Tim had twins on the show, but this fic is so out of cannon, so cannon smannon at this point.

Thanks again, it has been an incredible journey. I will miss talking to you all.


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